Beginning of the Dark Wars
by Marquis Black
Summary: Abandoned. Rewritten as The Dark Wars: Empire's Plight.
1. Diagon Alley Surprises

The first of September was starting to be a very bad day for Albus Dumbledore.

Barely had it been 7:00 AM that morning when Severus had barged into his office, yelling frantically about an attack on Diagon Alley that was supposed to happen that very same day, in no less than thirty minutes.

Calling everyone in the order had taken some time, and by the time they had reached Diagon Alley, the fight was already over.

But not the way Dumbledore had expected it.

Instead of the corpses of innocent civilians littering the pavement, cheers rang out as said civilians danced around in the streets. Making their way over to the center of the Alley, Dumbledore saw why.

Dead Death Eaters. Hundreds of them.

Many were still alive, groaning or screaming in agony, but most were indeed dead.

"What happened here?" asked Snape to a passerby, while Dumbledore stared in shock at the dead bodies.

The civilian merely grinned at Snape and hugged him in joy. "Didn't you see them?!" asked the man. Snape glared at him.

"Of course I saw the bodies, fool! Who did this!" he snapped. The man seemed unfazed in his joy.

"That's who I meant! Didn't you see our savior? He and his men should have passed by you if you came from the Leaky Cauldron."

Dumbledore looked at the man with narrowed eyes, finally having averted his gaze from the dead bodies. "We didn't see them. Can you explain more fully, sir?" he asked calmly, though he was panicking inside. A fourth faction? Were they Light wizards or Dark wizards? What happened here?

A woman now joined in on the conversation. "Oh, they were the most handsome men! Dressed in red coats, they were. Carrying flags, too," she explained, starry-eyed, to which the other civilian laughed.

"Indeed," explained the man, "Carried long staffs, they did. Their leader, a young lad…sixteen…maybe seventeen years old, led them. Hair as black as the night and eyes as green as the Killing Curse," he ranted, not noticing both Snape and Dumbledore's eyes widening as they snapped their gaze to each other.

"What else?" pressed Snape

"Well, the lad called out to his men…something about two columns…or was it rows? Anyway, the men obeyed, it seemed, because the lad looked approving. Anyway, he shouted some orders, the men pulled up the staffs to shoulder height, and then loud noises went off, and next thing we know, the Death Eaters are all on the ground, dead or dying," recalled the woman, "It couldn't have taken more than a couple of minutes. The Death Eaters were too confused to do anything when the redcoats showed up, I guess, because they didn't even fire a single curse at them."

Dumbledore and Snape exchanged glances before returning their attention back to the two civilians.

"Did anyone mention the leader's name?" asked Dumbledore.

The two civilians shook their heads and shrugged. "Sorry, but if they did, we didn't catch it. The lad simply turned his horse --for he was on a horse, you see—and his men followed him over towards the Leaky Cauldron…now that I think about it, that is weird, don't you think?" asked the man to the woman, who nodded.

"It is a bit strange that the lad would take his horse over towards the pub. Maybe he transfigured it into something smaller?" suggested the woman. The man shrugged.

Dumbledore's shoulders slumped, however. Maybe it wasn't him. Then again, what were the odds? Their house _was_ found entirely destroyed that fateful night, without any bodies found. Evidence suggested all bodies were cremated due to the fire. The only good thing to have come out of that night, however, was the so-called death of the Dark Lord, Voldemort. That, and Dumbledore had found his Chosen One, one Neville Longbottom, despite however improbable it seemed, seeing as the young boy was practically terrified of his own shadow.

Despite that, there had been several so-called sightings of the Potters. Acquaintances of theirs had reported seeing them alive and well in several places in England, but never for more than a few seconds. All had reported the same thing, though.

The Potters had a son with them.

A boy with black, unruly hair and green eyes.

Such sightings had stopped for a few years now, however. Despite that, there _had_ been variations of the sightings. Some said that the Potters seemed to have two other, older children. Dumbledore doubted this, since the Potters would have made it known to the whole world had that happened; they were a very proud family.

However, one thing did make their livelihood remain in question: the disappearance of their family vault from Gringotts.

Or, rather, the _apparent_ disappearance of the vault. As far as Gringotts was telling, the vault simply ceased to be, all materials inside with it. Being long accustomed to reading people, however, he knew the goblins were hiding something from him from behind their beady, calculating, and distrustful glares. Goblins did not like Dumbledore, and the feeling was entirely mutual. He simply couldn't trust a race of magical beings who would do _anything_ for something as materialistic as _profit_.

Still, it was oddly suspicious that the goblins, of all people, would hide a wizard family, Potters or not.

Another thing that worried Dumbledore as he sat in his office later in the day were the still disappeared Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. Both men had vanished a day after Voldemort's attack on the Potters. Immediately, people had begun to blame Sirius and Remus for the Potters' attack, but that was quickly silenced when, the next day, Peter Pettigrew was found.

Rather, his corpse was found nailed to the doors of Hogwarts, a black Dark Mark charred in his left arm, and the words "TRAITOR" written underneath in lasting flames.

Needless to say, the psychiatrists from St. Mungo's Hospital had to work overtime to help the traumatized students who had bared witness to the sight of Pettigrew's body.

It had saddened Dumbledore to find Pettigrew in such a fashion. If Pettigrew had indeed been the traitor, he would have still hoped for a chance to redeem the poor man (or, at least, poor in only his own opinion; everyone else was glad).

A small vial had also been recovered from the scene, containing memories of shadowy figures interrogating Pettigrew, unmasking him as both the traitor to the Light and the Potters' secret keeper, thus absolving Sirius Black of all guilt.

The question of the moment, however, remained: If Sirius was innocent, why had he disappeared?

Disappearances were not uncommon during the War. Indeed, many had disappeared before, never to resurface, but Voldemort had just been beaten, his troops were in disarray; who would have ordered such a hit, and leave no mark of engagements behind?

'_No,'_ concluded Dumbledore, '_Sirius has disappeared of his own volition, and Remus with him'_

Possibly for the best, too, that Remus had left. With Cornelius Fudge in power, the werewolf laws had been tightened even further than his predecessor had. Remus would have been unable to maintain a job for more than a few days.

Of course, Dumbledore had not done anything to oppose these measures. He rather thought that if the werewolves were slighted enough, he might convince one or two to spy for him on the others, promising the slighted werewolves better treatment after the war was over.

It was cold, Dumbledore realized, but it was necessary, even now with Voldemort still gone.

However, that brought him to his third problem: the Death Eaters.

Even with Voldemort still gone, now sixteen years in the past, the Death Eaters continued their reign of terror. Though quiet for the first thirteen years, they renewed their activities in 1994, beginning with small hit-and-run attacks on muggles, isolated wizarding families, or common civilians. However, by 1995, their attacks changed for the worse.

In a recruitment drive unprecedented in Death Eater history, according to Snape, the Death Eaters had recruited nearly 300 new candidates, launching a massive, simultaneous attack on Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, and the wizarding sector of Dover.

The attacks were a complete success for the Death Eaters, having killed or injured over 600 wizards and witches. Within the hour, Snape had reported, the Death Eaters had acquired another 200 recruits.

The problem was the Death Eater leadership, Dumbledore had concluded. No one, not even Snape, knew who coordinated them or ordered them. All that was known was that it was neither Malfoy or Macnair, nor the Lestranges, who had been broken out of Azkaban in the Winter of '94 Breakout. All of the prominent Death Eaters seemed to take the orders rather subserviently, which confused Snape, since the only one who had previously instilled such loyalty was Voldemort.

However, Snape _did_ report the fact that Barty Crouch's son, Barty Crouch Jr., had not shown up at all, despite having been asked about at a meeting, much to the surprise of Dumbledore and the Order, which had also been reconvened in 1994. Dumbledore did not mention this information to Crouch Senior, of course, rather keeping it secret so as to be used later as leverage, should Crouch Senior be uncooperative. It was blackmail, granted, but necessary for the greater good.

For now, though, Dumbledore recollected his thoughts and tried to summarize his worries in a list. He always found it easy to think clearly once he had ordered his priorities. So far, his list of worries were,

Finding the whereabouts and condition of Voldemort

Unmasking the Death Eater leadership

Finding out who the Redcoats were fighting for

Uncovering the truth of the Potters' disappearance

Looking for Black and Lupin

Such simple sentences that carried such enormous trials. He knew that the first and fourth items were probably related in some way. The fifth was probably related to the third, but not the first, and the other two seemed completely unrelated to the rest.

Dumbledore sighed in exasperation. He was nearing one-and-a-half centuries of age, and now, more so than ever, was he feeling his age. The twinkle in his eyes, a by-product of his restraining of his rampant natural legilimency, had dimmed, showing a slight emotional movement towards sadder emotions. It was fortunate that no one had deciphered that part of Dumbledore; it would give the enemy a great weapon, being able to discern Dumbledore's state of mind.

Suddenly, a shout jumped Dumbledore from his thoughts. It was McGonagall, and she seemed very, very disturbed.

'_It's going to be one of those days…'_ thought Dumbledore as he greeted the distressed professor with his usual, "Lemon Drop, Minerva?"

McGonagall shut him up, however, by quite literally saying, "Shut up and listen, Albus!"

To say Dumbledore was shocked was an understatement. He was baffled at how forceful McGonagall, one of his most loyal followers, was speaking to him. But then, it had to be big news indeed, should it fluster someone as calm as Minerva McGonagall.

"Filch just came to my office, Albus, running like a madman, carrying a letter," she explained, although she did seem slightly embarrassed by her previous tone of voice and choice of words, "He says a man in a _red coat_, on horseback gave it to him at the gates. Albus, the man was a _muggle_."

Dumbledore's eyes widened. It shouldn't have been possible for a muggle to reach the gates of Hogwarts, much less _see_ it as it was and its occupants. For one to have reached Hogwarts, seen it, _and_ be able to carry a conversation, no matter how short, with one of its occupants was…unheard of.

Dumbledore regained his composure, however, as he looked at the clutched letter in McGonagall's hand. "I see you did not read it, Minerva?" he half-asked, half-stated.

The Scottish professor nodded shakily. She slowly lifted the sealed envelope ('_Sealed with a wax seal'_ noted Dumbledore) and put it in front of Dumbledore, face up.

Dumbledore's eyes widened as he looked at the address at the front, followed by the bottom right return address.

_To Headmaster Albus Dumbledore_

_Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts, Scotland_

_United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland_

_From Lord James Potter, Marquess of Godric's Hollow_

_And Her Ladyship, Lily Potter, Marchioness of Godric's Hollow_

_Griffin Guard, Godric's Hollow, Wales,_


	2. Return of the Potters

Dumbledore was baffled. Truly and completely gobsmacked. Not half an hour ago, he had been wondering on the very livelihood of the Potters, and now, in front of him, on his very desk, was a letter from _both_ of the elder Potters, who had apparently, under his very nose, become part of the British nobility.

Minerva, for her part, seemed just as incredulous as Dumbledore, but was also overwhelmed by curiosity as to the contents of the letter. "Well?" she finally asked after at least ten minutes of complete, shocked silence, "Are you going to open it, Albus?"

Dumbledore snapped out of his shock as he regained his composure once more and looked at his Transfiguration professor with the legendary calm associated with him. He knew better, though; she'd seen him completely gobsmacked earlier and would never forget to tease him on it later on. He shook his head slightly at her question.

"First, we must convene the Order. I daresay that many of them will want to hear of the Potters' resurgence," he stated, to which McGonagall grudgingly agreed. Several of the Potters' acquaintances were indeed in the Order, like Hagrid, the elder Longbottoms, and other of the older members. Others, like the Weasleys, would appreciate the importance of the resurgence of such an important family.

Out of sheer curiosity as to the contents of the letter, McGonagall sped towards the fireplace and threw some Floo powder in it, calling up Order Headquarters, Longbottom Manor, where whoever was on duty would then relay the message. It turned out to be none other than Molly Weasley.

"Oh, hello Minerva, dear, what can—"

"Sorry to interrupt Molly, but it's absolutely _necessary_ that the Order convene _right NOW_" she stressed, transmitting the urgency in the situation _very_ well, for Mrs. Weasley had turned pale.

"It's not another attack, is it?" asked the concerned redhead. To her relief, McGonagall shook her head.

"It may or may not be the best news we've had yet. But enough chitchat, Molly, get the Order here _NOW_"

With that said, McGonagall ended the transmission, much to the amusement of Dumbledore, whose eyes were twinkling slightly. McGonagall glared at him before shifting her gaze back to the unopened letter.

"You're not going to even read it first, Albus?" she asked, raising an eyebrow elegantly.

Dumbledore shook his head. "I think it would be best if we were to all be here before I read it, Minerva."

McGonagall still seemed skeptical. "It may not be good news in the end, Albus."

Dumbledore went rigid at the correctly made observation. "You think maybe they've deserted us, Minerva?"

McGonagall glared at him. "I'm playing the Devil's Advocate here, Albus, and you know it. The Potters would _never_ betray the Light, but as far as we know, they might just be declaring their neutrality."

Dumbledore seemed to reconsider his initial judgement. Perhaps it _was_ a good idea to read the letter ahead of time. Shifting his gaze from McGonagall to the letter and back, he seemed to consider the action a few seconds before he finally reached it, opened it by breaking the wax seal, and began to read it. After a few moments, his eyes widened and he went rigid.

Sensing his unusual reaction, McGonagall went over to him, "What's wrong, Albus?" she asked as she put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He said nothing, rather simply holding up the letter as he sat there, still shocked out of his mind, while McGonagall read the letter. As she reached the same point in the letter as Dumbledore had, her free hand went up to her chest as she breathed an "_Oh my!"_

Dumbledore merely nodded.

Not just the Potters were alive, but most importantly, _Harry James Potter_ _was alive_.

And what's more,

He was coming to Hogwarts.

The Light had found its Savior.

Or so it thought.

When the Order had finally convened in the Headmaster's office (which had suspiciously become larger as more people flooded into the room), Dumbledore and McGonagall had finally recomposed themselves, though McGonagall seemed torn between maintaining a professional attitude and jumping with joy.

Eventually the Order calmed down enough for Dumbledore to begin. It had full attendance, he noted, for which he was thankful. He didn't want to have to repeat the news several times for those who would have missed the meeting. Even the Weasleys had turned up entirely; well, those who were above age and allowed (which excluded the twins and youngest two, along with Percy Weasley, who had turned his back on his family in favor of the Ministry).

"My friends, it is with great honor that I convene this meeting of the Order of the Phoenix and do declare it in session!" announced Dumbledore as he clapped his hands once, ceremonially, "Before we get into the main item of today's agenda, is there any pressing information or situations that we must discuss?"

After a few seconds of silence, Dumbledore nodded and began again, "Excellent. Well then, my friends, I have convened you all here today to be the bearer of excellent news," he declared, pausing for dramatic effect, which made most of the crowd groan in anticipation. Dumbledore grinned, "The Potters have been found."

The Order's immediate reaction was shocked silence. Then came the cheers from the Potters' acquaintances and longtime friends. Then came the shouted questions, which the Headmaster waved down. No one commented on Snape's dour look. Everyone knew of his animosity towards the Potters.

"All in good time, my friends. The Potters' resurgence came by way of a most peculiar method," he explained, holding up the once again closed letter (the wax seal was still broken, however), "it was a letter delivered for myself by a horseman, at the gates of Hogwarts."

"What's so special about being delivered a letter by horseman, sir? Maybe they didn't have an owl?" asked a member of the Order. A new recruit, Dumbledore gathered, by the way he had addressed the Headmaster.

"On the contrary, my friend. Judging by their state of affairs, I rather doubt that they would not own an owl. However, the crux of the matter is not the lack of owl post, but rather the nature of the horseman," he elaborated, "for you see, the man was neither wizard, nor squib. He was a muggle"

Instant chaos broke out in the room as many skeptical shouts and disbelieving snorts could be heard. People demanding the state of the Hogwarts wards were also heard among the skeptical. Dumbledore waved them down once more. He then waved the folded letter in the air.

"In this letter, addressed to myself by the Potter elders, the horseman's nature of being muggle was confirmed and vaguely explained. Suffice to say, the Potters found a way to bypass the anti-muggle wards and did so with some of their muggle followers"

Immediately, Arthur Weasley picked up on the last word, "Followers? Albus, what are you suggesting? Are you saying the Potters are also forming an Order?"

The aged Headmaster shook his head. "Perhaps it would be best if I read the letter to you all."

Seeing a murmur of agreement, Dumbledore unfolded the letter and, taking a deep breath, began reading aloud,

"Esteemed Headmaster,

It is with sincere cordiality that we write to you on this, the 1st of September, of the year 1997. We apologize for the years of silence in which we have spent, but do not, under any circumstances, regret it.

If you are wondering about the courier at the moment, however, then let us confirm what you already must know. Yes, he is a muggle. Now, onto more pressing matters, headmaster.

It was with great sadness that on that fateful day in Halloween, we discovered the treason of our once-friend Peter Pettigrew. However, by the will of the Fates and through great amounts of sheer luck and persistence, we managed to elude Riddle on that day. However, it was all for naught, as we were finally cornered in the safe house's living room by Riddle.

I, James Potter, did try to buy my wife and infant son enough time for them to escape, but in her great folly and dedication to her family, she did not, and rather stayed and fought Riddle alongside my person after having hid our son Harry in a closet in the hallway.

Voldemort, apparently pressed for time, managed to press up back and finally throw us off, yet not killing us. He was in the process of finding Harry when our oldest children, Alexandra and Matthew arrived home, along with Alexandra's fiancée, Maximilian Roberts.

Alexandra and Matthew's identity, should you ask yourself about it, is that of adopted children. We found them one day while taking a walk in Godric's Hollow (disguised of course), and took them in. They were no older than 17, and were lacking a place to live, and took to us easily.

Indeed, it is fortunate we found them, for on that fateful day, their arrival helped us beat back Voldemort. However, he did manage at one point to reach the closet wherein our son Harry was lying, sleeping peacefully. It is with sheer horror that I now tell you, sir, that Voldemort managed to throw a killing curse at my son…"

Previous to that point, everyone had taken the contents rather well, merely gasping and flinching whenever Voldemort's name was mentioned, but otherwise seemingly absorbed in the tale. However, when the killing curse was mentioned, all the women, save McGonagall (who had already read the piece), screamed, while the men paled and some cursed wildly. Dumbledore promptly waved them down into silence and continued,

"…Headmaster, as you and we all know, the killing curse is impossible to block. However, should that be the rule, then my son has proven all wrong. For he was struck with the killing curse, headmaster, but he did not die…"

More gasps were heard in the audience as Dumbledore continued,

"…Something happened, headmaster. Something that managed to envelop my son in a sort of shield, absorb the killing curse, and then bounce it back upon Voldemort.

It is thus, with great pleasure, that we report that Voldemort died.

Or so we thought, Headmaster.

Had it not been for the quick thinking and acting of Maximilian, we would have never noticed it, and Voldemort would, in all likelihood, be back.

However, we acted accordingly, and when Voldemort's spirit was thus torn from its body by the killing curse and tried to escape, Maximilian and Matthew managed to fire a containment spell upon it, sealing the spirit of Voldemort inside an object I shall not mention on paper nor in any sort of words, for fear of spies and the potential return of a madman.

However, that leads us into sadder, more troubling news, headmaster.

The object that kept Voldemort's spirit's return at bay has been stolen from us.

Fortunately, before the event occurred, the object had several safeguards placed upon it. These safeguards remain in our possession and are still functioning exceedingly well. No more detail shall be granted upon the nature of these safeguards, for the same reason for which the nature of the soul-sealing object shall not be released.

You might ask yourself, is it not redundant to keep secret the identity of the object sealing the spirit of one of the most feared Dark Lords in history if it has already been stolen?

The answer is no, headmaster, it is not. So long as only us Potters and the thief know the nature of the object that was stolen, no one else has any chance of acquiring it and knowing what it holds inside, thus allowing them to blackmail the rest of the population.

Thus, we are now informing you of a decision which the Potter family has reached in the need to recover the object. In order to find and recover our stolen property, we have dispatched several agents all over the British Empire in order to find the thief. We expect these agents to be left alone, headmaster. Any interference shall be dealt with swiftly.

With what authority do I dare speak to you in such a way, you wonder?

Therein lies another question we shall answer, headmaster.

After the events of the 31st of October of the year 1981, we Potters fled Godric's Hollow to our now son-in-law's sanctuary elsewhere in the Empire. By the time our son reached the age of 5, however, we had made ourselves servants of the Crown. By taking care of Her Most Imperial Majesty's overseas lands, we have risen in Her eyes.

It seems, headmaster, that Her Majesty has full knowledge of the wizarding world and, indeed, does keep an army to patrol, secure, and uphold the law in the oversea colonies, which, unlike their muggle counterparts, have not declared independence. Along with Matthew and Maximilian, I, James Potter, enlisted in Her Majesty's Imperial Army, through which we have risen in rank and suppressed enough uprisings so as to now hold the rank of Marquess.

You have read correctly, headmaster. The Potters are now part of the British aristocracy.

But perhaps I should elaborate more on my son, since I shall be mentioning his part in this play shortly.

My son, Harry James Potter, has managed to inherit my own physical looks, but has kept his mother's most precious emerald-green eyes. He now stands at the same height as I did when I graduated, and he has still some inches to go, I believe.

I am most proud of my son, headmaster, as you have noticed.

He has been enrolled so far in the Imperial Academy of Magic in Canada. As you know, this also means he has a commission in the British Army, both the muggle and the magical. Indeed, my son now holds the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel, to the amazement of his peers. To their further amazement, he has been granted control of a full division of 15,000 men, in a manner that most of his teachers claimed was reminiscent of Field Marshall Wellesley.

Indeed, you may have seen him in action already. I hear his first assignment was putting down a minor uprising in Diagon Alley today. If you didn't, then do not worry, for you shall yet get a chance to see my son in action.

For that is the reason of this letter, you sea. Our son, headmaster, has been dispatched by Her Imperial Majesty to Hogwarts to keep the Scottish lands safe. Through our own counsel and that of several of our allies, we managed to convince Her Majesty that Hogwarts would be the ideal place for our son to use as a field headquarters.

I trust you will not disobey this Royal Command, headmaster, or my son's orders will, assuredly, come to heads with your intentions, and I assure you, headmaster, that the Empire's will, will prevail.

Our son will make his full orders known when he arrives there tomorrow, with his part of his division. He has already surpassed anything you could teach him in Hogwarts, as well, headmaster, so it will not be necessary to enroll him there. I do expect your utmost courtesy to his person and his men while there, however.

Cordially,

James Potter, Marquess of Godric's Hollow

Lily Potter, Marchioness of Godric's Hollow"

The general reaction of the Order was that of stunned silence at the end of the letter. Despite the seeming cordiality of the letter, it was clear that the Potters held Dumbledore with some sort of wary regard, as if not fully trusting him. Snape, though sneering at the contents of the letter, was similarly shocked by the attitude of the Potters. Their attitude was not arrogant, but rather…distant, cold even.

However, only Dumbledore had realized the true purpose of the last paragraph. It wasn't an assurance that the Potters were sending when they informed him of their son's intellectual achievements, but rather a warning not to try and entangle him within age-school regulations.

It saddened Dumbledore, to an extent, when he read the passage the first time; had the Potters' trust in him been shaken that much? In fact, what had caused said trust _to_ be shaken? There was no rational basis for their distrust, yet there it was. Dumbledore resolved to find out what happened to the Potters to have made them so distrustful of him.

After a moment of silence, Dumbledore looked around and finally asked, "Well, my friends, what make you of this?"

Immediately, Snape sneered, "The Potters have grown more arrogant than I could of thought possible, headmaster, if they think we'll allow their underage brat to run free in this castle," he spat.

"You heard James, though. He has the backing of the ruling monarch. If we say no, there could be dire repercussions," protested Frank Longbottom, a longtime friend of the Potter elders.

"What could a _muggle_ do to us?" shot back Snape. "They would have to breach the wards, the traps, and the walls before taking Hogwarts. They would not risk so many men."

"The messenger was a muggle," came the quiet observation from Nymphadora Tonks, one of the new Auror recruits into the Order. Beside her, Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody nodded his gnarled head.

"I agree with Tonks. The messenger's purpose is clear, now. He wasn't meant for dramatic effect," observed the experienced ex-Auror.

"Moody and Tonks are right, headmaster. The only reason the Potters would have send a horseman to deliver a letter, a muggle one to be specific, would be to tell us that the wards will not stop them," came the calm observation of Kingsley Shacklebolt, another Auror recruit into the Order.

Snape still kept his sneer in place. "And the traps? Would they risk their men against the traps and lose gods know how many in the process?" he demanded, "Not even the filthy muggle queen is that inhuman," he spat, much to the anger of many muggle-borns in the room; an anger that became quite vocal when he finished his sentence.

"If you think that low of Lieutenant-Colonel Potter, then you're in for a big surprise" came a calm observation from somewhere near the bookshelves.

Immediately, Dumbledore drew his wand, along with Moody, Tonks, McGonagall, Arthur Weasley, Shacklebolt, and the Longbottoms and pointed it at the apparent source of the voice, a previously unseen man leaning against the wall in fine Victorian garb.

The man merely smirked at the wands as he pushed himself off the wall and patted himself down, even running a hand through his combed-back hair, which was tied into a low ponytail by a small black hairbow. He then noticed that the rest of the room had come to its senses and were pointing their wands at him as well, to which he gave a small laugh.

"Who are you?" demanded Dumbledore, his voice authoritative. "Identify yourself!"

The Victorian man merely smirked as he ignored the headmaster, took out a golden pocket watch, and clicked it open. He looked at it for a few seconds before snapping it shut and then looking back at the headmaster with a reproving look.

"Two hours already, headmaster," he tut-tutted, then elaborated upon seeing the confused looks, "Two hours you've had that letter, headmaster, and you've yet begun to prepare for the Lieutenant-Colonel's arrival."

Dumbledore's arm did not waver, but many others were starting to look at the man with disbelieving looks. "Who are you, stranger, and how did you get in here?" demanded the headmaster again.

"One-tracked mind, hmm?" jibed the Victorian man, before he sighed and finally nodded, "Fine, fine…if it will make you start working on the young master's arrival, then I'll humor you," he said, sighing theatrically. "I am Joachim Blackthorne, Lieutenant-Colonel Potter's civilian attaché, as it were. I was sent here earlier by the Lord Marquess Potter and the Lady Marchioness to see to it that you did not dally with the preparations," after pausing for a bit, as if to decide whether or not to elaborate, he chose to continue, "Lieutenant-Colonel Potter is rather…irritable at the moment."

Snape snorted, but everyone lowered their wand when Dumbledore did. The headmaster's curiosity was piqued, however. "What do you mean by that, Mr. Blackthorne?" he inquired calmly.

Blackthorne seemed uncomfortable as he answered the question, "The young master…he…he doesn't…" he stuttered, before seemingly finally reaching a conclusion in his mind, "He doesn't much care for his assignment, headmaster."

While Dumbledore understood but was confused, many of the Order did not understand at all.

"What do you mean he doesn't care for his assignment?" one of the confused members called out. Blackthorne seemed edgy at the question, but in the spirit of preparing Hogwarts for the arrival of the young master, he nonetheless answered, albeit reluctantly.

"Lieutenant-Colonel Potter wanted to refuse his assignment," he explained. "There are several reasons for which he does not want to be in Hogwarts, most of which his parents agreed with, but the Queen's orders are absolute."

"He doesn't want to come to Hogwarts?" asked an incredulous member.

"Then let him go elsewhere!" spat Snape, "We have no need of the interference of a brat who obviously does not regard us as needing his attention."

Blackthorne glared at Snape. However, while Snape was able to withstand most glares, there was something behind Blackthorne's gaze that scared the usually snarky professor and quickly shut him up.

"I did not say he didn't see the place as not worthy of his attention, but rather that Hogwarts, specifically, does not appeal to him. Young Lord Potter wished to camp several miles north. However, it was either Hogwarts, or being posted at a desk job in the Imperial War Office," explained Blackthorne. "Now then. I've answered your questions, headmaster, now answer mine. When are you going to get ready for his young lordship's arrival?"

Snape's sneer reemerged. "You're assuming we're accepting these…orders" he retorted, spitting out the last word.

Joachim laughed. "You dare go against the Queen's orders? Oh, I'm sure that'll make Sir Harry's day," he told them, still chuckling, "he's itching for another fight, after that brief skirmish in Diagon Alley. Brought the siege equipment from Canada, too."

Everyone seemed to become nervous at the implications of those words, except for Dumbledore, who remained calm.

"Mr. Blackthorne," he began, which made the young officer look his way with a bored look, "surely Sir Harry—"

"That's Lieutenant-Colonel to you, headmaster," interrupted Joachim, whose eyes had once again flashed, semi-angrily. Like Snape, Dumbledore saw something in them that made him internally shiver. The rest of the Order, however, did not take kindly to the interruption.

"How dare you speak to the Headmaster that way!" yelled Mrs. Weasley. Blackthorne turned to her and, for a brief moment, a flash of recognition went through his eyes as a cold smile developed on his face.

"I will correct the headmaster anytime I wish, when he is breaching protocol, knowingly or not," Blackthorne informed them, "By orders of Lieutenant-Colonel Potter, _no one_ may address him as Sir Harry unless they have his express permission or friendship. The headmaster has neither."

Dumbledore seemed troubled by this revelation. "What do you mean by that? Does Sir…I mean, the Lieutenant Colonel view me as an enemy?" he asked, to which Blackthorne responded with a grim smile.

"Sir Harry does not like you, headmaster, but he does not view you as an enemy. He simply views you and your vaunted Order as cowards," he stated simply, to the outrage of the Order. Beating them to the punch, he lifted a silencing hand. "Those are his views. If you have objection to them, take it up with him. I'm sure Sir Harry would _love_ to explain your incompetence. For now, I'll repeat myself _one last time_. _When will you begin preparations?_ His army, while used to camping out, _does_ need a designated area to sleep in, as well as the simpler anti-intruder wards and perimeter wards."

Dumbledore sighed in defeat. "We will begin shortly. Everything will be ready by the time the Lieutenant Colonel arrives."

Blackthorne nodded, no smile on his face now. "We will look forward to meeting you again, headmaster, when the Lieutenant Colonel arrives. Mind your manners then, Headmaster. Afternoon to you all" he told the group, before standing at attention before the headmaster, giving him a brief salute, and then snapping his fingers, causing a burst of smoke to appear where he stood. When it was gone, he was nowhere in sight.

Snape wheeled on the headmaster. "Albus, you surely can't be serious about acquiescing that _brat_'s demands!" he demanded. Most of the Order agreed with Snape, miraculously enough. Dumbledore shook his head, a calculating look in his eyes.

"We will do as Mr. Potter has asked of us. However, the _quality_ of our work was never mentioned," he told the group, making many snicker as they understood the headmaster's underlying message. Others, however, weren't so sure of the plan.

"Surely, Albus, we musn't antagonize the boy?" asked Mr. Weasley. "I mean, perhaps he _is_ a bit arrogant in his demands, but surely we won't lower ourselves to active sabotage? The boy _is_ with us in this war, after all," he reasoned. Many others vocalized their agreement, including most of the Aurors present.

Dumbledore shook his head. "We will make his army as uncomfortable as possible, and at the same time lure him away from the muggle Queen's service. There cannot be _two_ Light armies. It provokes factionalism, repercussions of the which we will feel later, after the war, if we do not prevent it," reasoned Dumbledore. "No, Harry Potter's army must go."

While many of the Order cheered, others, like the Weasleys, Hogwarts teachers, and the Aurors, had a really bad feeling about Dumbledore's plan.


	3. Hero of the Empire

The next day, Dumbledore assembled his entire school staff at the Entrance Hall, where he was awaiting Potter's arrival. All were dressed in their best clothes, with the exception of Snape, whose usual black robes _were_ his best clothes. In fact, they were the _only_ type of robes he _had_.

By now, most of the school had also heard of their visitors' impending arrival, and so most students could be seen crowding around windows, or from the parapets at the top of the central courtyard. After two hours of waiting, however, everyone was getting restless.

"Where is that blasted boy?" muttered Snape, which Dumbledore answered with a stern gaze.

"We must wait for him, Severus. It would be highly impolite and offensive if we did not," answered the aged headmaster, which many of the teachers were nodding at.

"Indeed," squeaked little professor Flitwick. "However, I am more curious as to how they mean to transport such a large contingent of men over here. The Hogwarts Express itself would not be able to cope with all the men and equipment. Not in one go."

"I agree," acquiesced McGonagall. "Surely they've procured a means of mass transportation, like Beauxbatons and Durmstrang did two years ago," she elaborated, alluding to the Tri-Wizard Cup of 1994, which Hogwarts had won.

"Probably," agreed Dumbledore, as he looked around the landscape for any sign of an arriving army. "Considering the fact that they have so many men and equipment, I daresay it'll be something large, something eminently British—"

"What about a ship?" suddenly asked professor Sprout, her gaze fixed on something in the lake.

"Yes, a ship would do…but it would have to be big, and several of them, I daresay. A great guess, my dear!" he complimented Sprout, not noticing her gaze still fixed to the lake. "What brought that on?"

Sprout pointed her finger at whatever she was looking at, "THAT!"

Dumbledore and the rest of the staff turned their gaze from the rest of the landscape towards the lake. Apparently, several of the students had seen it too, since there were several shouts of "Ship! There's a ship in the lake!"

And indeed, it was a ship. Or rather, the top of a mast that Sprout had seen. But now, it was steadily rising, until the front burst out of the surface, plummeted back into the water, and finally steadied itself. At the bow of the ship was the typical female idol, this one clothed in ancient Celtic warrior garb. At the back of the ship flew a giant Union Jack in all its splendor.

"Oh my…" breathed McGonagall as she observed the majestic three-decker rise out of the waters.

"164 guns…" whispered that year's Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was working part time, as a favor for Dumbledore. He was stunned at the theoretical amount of damage a single volley of that ship could do.

Snape merely sneered at the sight of the ship, "That pathetic vessel wouldn't stand against a single Reductor, I'm sure. And it cannot possibly carry his entire army," he observed silkily.

"You're right" stated professor Sinistra, more agreeing to the logistical aspect of the ship than its resilience. She pointed at two spots behind the first ship. "There's three more, behind it!"

Indeed, moments after the first three-decker ruptured the surface of the lake, three other three-deckers burst out behind it in V formation. All carried similar female idols at the prow, but flew flags with the Cross of St. George instead of the Union Jack, making all the staff assume the first was rightly Potter's ship.

From the prow of said ship, Harry Potter, Lieutenant Colonel of his Majesty's Army and officer in command of the 6th Active Royal Division and Officer in Charge of the Pacification of the Scottish Lands, was looking at the aforementioned staff through his telescope with a grim look. He put down the lens for a moment, seemingly to consider something, before raising it again. Behind him, Blackthorne was waiting patiently, along with the rest of his aides.

Finally, Harry spoke, "You're sure your information is _absolutely_ correct, Blackthorne?" he asked crisply.

Blackthorne went rigid at attention. "Sir! I'm sure, sir. My agents scoured the castle while the headmaster's vaunted Order was meeting. I myself contributed to the efforts by giving the details of the headmaster's office."

Harry nodded before he observed the staff through his lens once more. He _really_ didn't want to camp in Hogwarts. It was a bad site, strategically, allowing him nearly no freedom of movement. And, as far as he was concerned, until proven otherwise, this was enemy territory. He'd been warned about Dumbledore and his manipulations, which added to his misgivings about staying in Hogwarts. Of course, there _were_ bonuses to staying there…

It was while thinking on a particular bonus that he made up his mind at last. He pushed the looking lens into the rest of the telescope, making it more compact as he turned to regard his men. All were wearing red coats, with the exception of the ship's captain and the man's staff.

"Alright gentlemen, we're here at last. Now, I expect our men and yourselves to act like the gentlemen you all are. _No_ harassing the students, and certainly no stealing. I want you to make that perfectly clear to your men, understood?" he demanded. After receiving brief acknowledgements from his officers, he nodded and continued, "I want you all to be careful. Exceedingly careful, gentlemen. Albus Dumbledore is a _very_ dangerous man. He is manipulative, and powerful. However, more worryingly is the fact that he believes all men can and should be redeemed, even if at the cost of the redeemer."

"Do not fall for his manipulations. See him for what he is: an unknown factor, an enemy even, but one we must not attack. We must not be the first ones to fire, for that will make our position here even more uncertain," he finished, glad that his officers were drinking in his every word, even if he was a decade or so younger than they, for the most part.

"Now then, our arrangements for details are as follows: Mr. Sharpe!" he barked, causing one of the captains to go rigid at attention.

"Sir!"

"I want you to pick adequate picquet teams. Rotate them every five hours," he ordered.

"Yes, sir!" the man saluted.

"Mr. Wolfe!"

"Sir!"

"Your men are to be assigned to patrol duty in the camp during the night. If anyone does manage to get by Mr. Sharpe's men, which is unlikely, I want your men to apprehend them,"

"Yes, sir!"

"Mr. Monck!"

"Sir!"

"Your ships are to remain anchored as near to the town of Hogsmeade as you can, while still remaining within firing range of Hogwarts, understood?"

"Aye, sir!"

Harry nodded. "Good. Get to it, then, gentlemen. Mr. Monck, take us to the castle's port."

The ship's captain saluted, then turned to go to the wheel to give the orders. On the way, the man stopped to give the signal officer instructions for the other ships. As the other officers also left, Harry was left only with Blackthorne, who merely looked at Harry's back as the young Colonel looked at the castle, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Penny for your thoughts, sir?" prodded Joachim, finally. Harry chuckled.

"Old memories, Joachim," he answered, "I was thinking of spring in 1992."

Joachim's eyes darkened slightly at the memory. "The basilisk."

Harry nodded. "Indeed. It is funny that Dumbledore should think that I have never set foot in Hogwarts before…when he owes me his career, eh?" he asked as he looked back to Joachim, who was smiling grimly.

"Indeed, sir. Might I ask what brought on such a memory?" he asked, though he had a feeling what had done so.

"You know full well what brought it on, Joachim," chided Harry, before falling silent. "_She's_ there."

Joachim nodded. "Aye, that she is, sir."

"I daresay she won't be very enthusiastic about my presence" commented Harry as he winced a bit, "Not after I stood her up at our wedding interview with Her Majesty."

Joachim shrugged nonchalantly, "She seemed well enough when I saw her in the castle, sir. Even helped with the information collecting, she did."

Harry shivered a bit. "You don't know her like I do, Joachim. That girl, no, _woman_, is a terror when she's angry. Oh, she looks calm on the exterior, but when alone with her…let's just say she can shout."

Joachim grinned. "I daresay your homecoming will be eventful then, sir."

Harry glared at his close friend. "Let's change the subject, eh?" he suggested forcibly as he looked towards the castle again, the breezy wind feeling nice against his face, making his low ponytail flutter in the wind.

"Very well, sir," agreed Joachim, though he was still amused by the previous topic, "What do you think of Dumbledore's agreement?"

Harry's expression turned grim. "It's a half-lie," he stated plainly. At Joachim's inquisitive look, he elaborated, "The man will give us our wards and land, but it'll all be done half-heartedly, mark my words. Uncle Max warned me enough about the old man to make sure I didn't fall for his tricks."

Joachim's eyes narrowed. "How do we respond to that, then, sir?"

Harry gave a wolfish smile. "Well, we'll just have to erect our own wards, eh?" he replied, "and if some of the casting…interferes with some of Hogwarts' wards, then more's the pity, no?"

Once the ship (_HMS Empire_) had reached a short distance from the docks, the sailors began rolling up the sails, intending to disembark by use of launch boats. As the numerous launch boats made their way towards the dock, Harry's at the front, the Hogwarts staff and students looked at the magnificent display of coordination that the soldiers and sailors were performing.

"Efficient, aren't they?" commented professor Vector as she took off her square spectacles and wiped them clean with a handkerchief.

"Indeed," agreed McGonagall, "Reminds me of the tales uncle Angus used to tell me about _his_ time in the British Army, back during the Napoleonic Wars"

"Your uncle was muggle?" asked Flitwick, not taking his eyes off the grandiose man-of-wars.

McGonagall shook her head, "Squib. Grandfather had him enlist in the army, since he couldn't carry on the family trade, as it were," she replied, "He served in Waterloo. Said he never was more frightened than when the French cavalry began their assault on the British square."

Dumbledore looked at McGonagall with curiosity in his eyes, "What did he do?"

McGonagall gave the headmaster a proud look, "He stayed and fought, just like the rest of the British army. He said if Wellington could handle the fright, then by God, so could he."

"I'm assuming that the rest of his comrades felt the same, seeing as how Wellington won" commented Flitwick in his squeaky voice.

McGonagall nodded, a proud smile on her face, "The British Army may have been made up of liars, robbers, murderers, and other dregs of society, but when it came to soldiering, they were second to none."

She never took notice of the slightly agitated expressions of her fellow teachers.

At the docks, the launch boats had already arrived and were proceeding to unload their troops and supplies. From a lookout on the stairwell that led up to the Hogwarts grounds, Harry took out his telescope and, pulling it to its full length, looked at the secondary landing site, at the shore of the Hogwarts grounds, near the main entrance, where his main force of soldiers, cavalry, and siege equipment would be unloaded. At his own particular landing point, only he and his staff, along with a platoon of Coldstream Guards, who were serving as his own personal escort.

Harry collapsed the telescope as he nodded satisfactorily at the men's progress. Half of the men were already in launch boats, rowing for the shore. Several already were nearing the shore. He turned to face his staff, all of whom, with the exception of the captain of the _Empire_, were waiting at attention for his orders.

"Have the men of the 78th Highlander Regiment camp in the area near the castle gates. Should the Death Eaters attack, they will be in charge of manning and defending the walls," he ordered, silently nodding in acquiescence when the responsible officer stiffened at attention and then went on his way to relay the commands, "The 96th Rifles are to encamp and fortify the walls on the other side of the lake, thus taking care of the only two possible entry points to the castle."

"Also, I want at least six pieces of artillery on each wall. Try to make it nine on the secondary walls, since it covers a larger stretch of land. Cavalry is to camp near the stadium, but within minutes distance from the front gate," he finished. "Put up the medical tent at the 96th Rifles camp. I want _my_ tent up on the cliffs overlooking the lake."

After nodding to the officers who stiffened to attention and left, Harry turned to Blackthorne, who had a calculating smile on his face.

"You're ignoring the land partition the headmaster probably has set up," he stated calmly, though with a hint of approval in his tone. Harry merely smirked.

"If that old fool believes I'll constrict myself to _his_ wishes, he's got something else coming. Remember what I said about the wards, though, Blackthorne. He'll still try to put up his shoddy work, so I want the 1st Shield Regiment to set up appropriate wards. Maybe have them tinker with some of Hogwarts' more…superfluous wards, like the one that prevents boys from going up female dorm staircases, or reversing the ones that already exist. Use your imagination."

Blackthorne grinned evilly as he saluted Harry. "Your father and his friends would be damned proud, sir Harry," he observed, making Harry smile.

"Well, they _do_ complain I do not seem to have an affection for pranks..."

Blackthorne laughed. "Indeed! But we should continue this discussion later, sir Harry. Our hosts must be waiting impatiently by now," he observed, "Though we be not on good terms with the headmaster, it is still necessary to observe the proper protocol, so as to show ourselves to be the better men."

Harry sighed as he reluctantly acquiesced. "Very well. Let us go meet the puppets and their overrated puppeteer."

Once at the top of the stairwell, Harry took out his golden pocket watch (a family heirloom his father had given him, first carried by one of Gryffindor's greatest generals', Augustus Potter, descendants) and checked the time.

'_11:11:11 AM…'_ he thought, smiling at the irony of the situation. Rather than enacting an armistice, he was essentially occupying a castle for posterior offensive military operations. Granted, it didn't have as much hold, since it wasn't November 11th, but still…

After chuckling to himself, Harry clicked the watch shut and tucked it safely in his inner breast pocket. He then straightened his back as he regarded the school staff with indifferent and calculating eyes. Behind him, he could feel the Coldstream Guards tightening their grips on their A-1 Griffin Rifles, developed and mass-produced by Maximilian and his family, the Roberts, who were in the service of the Potters and thus, indirectly, of the Crown.

"Easy, lads. They won't dare pull anything on us. Not if they value their school," Harry told them calmly. He heard behind him as Blackthorne ordered them to look calm, but paid no attention; his gaze was fixed on the staff.

Straightening his shoulders, he took one step forward and walked over to the professors, his personal guard behind him, although he felt several leave formation and take position at the flanks of the meeting, just in case the headmaster was less friendly than expected.

'_The die is cast,'_ thought Harry as he neared the headmaster.

Of the many things Minerva McGonagall was known for, a taste in fashion was not it. In fact, she rather despised the pursuance of fashion, looking upon such pursuits as a waste of time. However, there was one thing she could not deny, and that was that Harry Potter looked good in his uniform.

Standing before them in his bright redcoat, with his two golden epaulettes shining in the midday sun, he looked every bit the officer he professed to be. He was wearing the tricorne used by the British in America, which was bordered in gold. At his hip hung a 1796 Light Cavalry saber, which, even hanging in its scabbard, was quite the fearsome weapon. He kept his dark hair long, tied back in a small low ponytail with a midnight blue hairbow. Across his figure ran a red officer's sash, with the crest of the Potter family in the middle.

He gracefully took off his hat and tucked it underneath his arm. "I am Lieutenant Colonel Harry James Potter, of Her Majesty's Imperial Army," he announced calmly. "I come to Hogwarts on orders of Her Majesty's government, as a measure to carry out my duties in a swifter fashion. I expect your hospitality" he finished, looking pointedly at Dumbledore, as if challenging him to object.

To his credit, the headmaster didn't object, but rather inclined his head respectfully. "I am Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of this _educational_ institution, Colonel, and freely do offer my hospitality to you and your men, Colonel."

Harry seemed a bit disappointed at not being able to find anything wrong in the headmaster's words, but did sneer at the word 'educational'. "Yes, I've heard of the education your school provides. Mediocre, at best, from what I gather. Then again, perhaps that's because of your staff, not the syllabus," he commented, looking directly at Snape, whom he recognized immediately through his parents' descriptions. The man turned red with indignity.

Harry looked around at the castle, trying to take it all in, just in case, and sighed resignedly as he put his tricorne back on and straightened it. "It'll do, I suppose. Food need not be prepared for my men this evening, headmaster; my men are used to cooking for themselves and are rather suspicious of anything not made by themselves. I, however, shall be joining you this evening," he told the aged man.

Dumbledore nodded slowly and finally tried to put in a word, "Colonel, perhaps one of my staff or myself can accompany you to your prepared quarters in the castle?" he suggested, "We have rooms prepared for you and your staff in Gryffindor Tower"

Harry was about to immediately shoot down that proposal when he stiffened. '_She's there…'_ his mind taunted, '_admit it, Potter, you want to see her, for more than a single hour, after all these years…'_

Harry could easily feel the temptation of being so close to his beloved wife, but the rational part of his mind made a swift comeback, reasoning,

'_It would compromise her as your spymaster, endangering her life.'_

That alone won the argument in favor of not staying in the castle. He looked at the headmaster with an indifferent gaze and said, "Thank you, but no, headmaster. I am having my tent propped up on the cliffs, overlooking both sides of the lake. Your tower is too far from my men for efficient command."

With that said, Harry went to attention, tipped his hat towards the female professors, saying a polite, "Madams," and then turned and left for the place where his tent would be erected.


	4. Reactions

Minutes later, in the headmaster's office, Snape was seething.

"THAT BRAT!" he screamed, "How DARE he! Insulting the Headmaster, and US, as well!"

Unfortunately, it seemed no one, save the headmaster (who was being silent for now), agreed with him.

"Please, Snape," huffed Sprout, "The only person he insulted was _you_."

"Indeed," agreed Flitwick, "Though he did do so with the most astounding tact; Imagine that, trying to seem impartial by referring to all of us."

"He was a complete gentleman, too," added Sinistra who, despite being Potter's elder by seven years, being the youngest on staff, had nonetheless blushed at the younger man's appearance and countenance.

"Oh, spare us your childish infatuations, Aurora" sneered Snape, "The Potter brat obviously is the same as his father, pigheaded and insubordinate."

"He is not!" protested McGonagall in crisp tones, feeling her duty to defend her former student. Besides, she had a good feeling about the boy. For all his indifference, he seemed to have a kind spark in his eyes that was underneath the frosty exterior.

"A feeling of yours, I presume?" challenged Snape with a sneer, "Of course you would defend such Gryffindor-like manners"

McGonagall was about to draw her wand when Dumbledore silenced them all with a raised hand.

"Enough" he commanded quietly, making them all freeze in their tracks. That was his command voice, which indicated he had orders.

Dumbledore sighed wearily as he pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed it softly in frustration. "Mr. Potter is an enigma. For one part, he was exceptionally indifferent to us, but for another, he seemed hesitant to refuse my offer of quarters in Gryffindor Tower."

"Perhaps he wanted to see where his parents had stayed," offered Sprout, which Dumbledore shot down with a shake of his head,

"No. He can see it any day he wishes. This was something else. There is something in Gryffindor Tower that Mr. Potter desperately wants to see, but is not allowing himself to do so," the headmaster reasoned. "Can you think of anything in the Tower that would allure so much to Mr. Potter, Minerva?" he asked his colleague.

The aging witch looked pensive for a moment but then shook her head. "Nothing in particular that would catch my attention, Albus."

Dumbledore sighed. Something in Gryffindor Tower held the answer to controlling the Potter boy. Now, he just had to find it and use it adequately.

After all, the boy was too important to be left alone. The greater good demanded it.

And he wondered why the Potters didn't trust him.

As the Potter-Dumbledore rivalry began to develop, the students in the school were gossiping wildly and speculating, thus proving the existence and width of the infamous Hogwarts Rumor Mill. Theories and guesses had been thrown left and right on the character of Harry James Potter, Lieutenant-Colonel of Her Majesty's Army.

Some said he had killed five death eaters with his bare hands

Others said he was a poser, nothing more than an impostor.

But one thing was certain, '_What is Harry Potter like?'_ certainly was on everyone's minds.

In Gryffindor Tower, four students were exchanging such guesses in front of the common room fire, seated comfortably in the bright red sofas.

"It's too bad we didn't get a good look at him" whined Ron Weasley, Gryffindor's current Quidditch Keeper and Team Captain, "The spot I was at was _full_ of other students, so I barely caught a glimpse. What about you guys?

"I saw him pretty well," offered Neville Longbottom, one of Gryffindor's shiest members, but still well known as a good duelist in DADA classes. He was also Ron Weasley's sister's, Ginny Weasley, boyfriend.

"He looked quite dashing in his uniform" agreed Ginny, "We saw him when we were coming back from the Greenhouses, right Neville?"

Neville nodded, "It was weird at first, but I have to admit the uniform is quite nice" he agreed.

Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley's girlfriend and Gryffindor's number one student, merely sniffed. "I still do not see the need to dress up in those infernal _red coats_," she stated primly, "They carry out a horrible connotation of imperialism and oppression!"

Ginny merely looked at Hermione wryly, "Isn't that what they are, though, Hermione?" she asked, "Soldiers of the Empire? That's what he said, anyway."

Hermione sniffed, "Don't be ridiculous; the Empire hasn't existed since the creation of the Commonwealth" she stated, "None of the former colonies would want to rescind their freedom to serve a monarch who ruled overseas"

Ron looked at her with a weird expression, "Former colonies?" he asked

Hermione nodded, "Canada, Australia, India, and so forth, to name the major ones" she informed her boyfriend.

Ron merely looked over to Ginny and Neville, "When did they break away?" he asked. Ginny shrugged, and Neville looked confused.

Hermione's eyes narrowed, "Well, Canada didn't break away _per se_, but it _is_ an independent government…"

Ron shook his head, "No it's not, Herm. I remember hearing dad talk about it last summer. Canada's just received their new Magical Royal Governor," he informed her with a gleeful expression, happy to have _finally_ known something his girlfriend did not.

Hermione looked outraged. "You mean to tell me the British Empire has _not_ disintegrated in the magical world?" she demanded. Neville looked at her weirdly.

"Of course not," he stated bluntly, "It's the longest living Empire so far. Only the Spanish Empire disintegrated, and only the Americans broke away, same war as the Muggles did."

"In fact," added Ginny, putting in her two cents, "The Queen's officers are all trained in Canada, at the Imperial Magic Institute. That's probably where he's been educated all this time."

"And how he has such a high rank for his age," observed Neville, making Ginny nod in agreement.

"How come none of this is in my books?! Surely, _someone_ must have written about this!" demanded Hermione.

Ron shrugged, "It's known to all pureblood families, that I know of. Most forget about it, though, or try not to say anything about it, like the Malfoys" he spat the name, "who believe it unfit of the magical community to kneel before a muggle monarch. Dumbledore probably doesn't know of it, come to think of it," he added. At Hermione's outraged look, he quickly explained, "Well, he's not pureblooded, is he? Also, he wouldn't have met the Imperial Army during the Grindelwald Wars, since the Imperial Army was busy keeping the peace in the colonies," he added

"Just understand, Herm, that not everyone knows of the Empire's existence, much less the muggle-borns, since it would _empower_" Ginny spat the word, "them. Ridiculous nonsense if you ask me."

Hermione seemed troubled by the revelation of the Empire's continued existence but reluctantly accepted it. "So what would Harry Potter act like, seeing as he serves the Crown? Stiff and polite?" she asked, curiously. Ginny shrugged.

"I've never met a graduate of the IMI. Have you, Neville?" she asked her boyfriend, who shook his head.

"Gran's met some, but I never got to. Was before my time," he explained.

"You, Ron?" asked Hermione. Ron shook his head as well.

"Sorry, Herm. Can't say I have. Elite of the elite, they are, the graduates of the IMI."

"Regardless," interrupted Ginny, "We'll be able to see him better tonight. Apparently, he'll be attending the school dinner."

Huffing at the lack of information, Hermione merely gathered up her belongings and left for her dorm, set on putting everything away before she went down to dinner.

Back in the common room, Ron sighed.

"Mental, she is."

Neville gave a small grin, "But you wouldn't have her any other way"

Ron grinned, "Right you are, mate."

Ginny merely rolled her eyes.

Harry was fidgeting as he observed himself in the mirror of his field tent. Unlike wizard tents, these were not magically expanded and full of wizarding comforts. Harry had ordered his tent to be exactly the same as that of his soldiers. If they lived in muggle tents, then so would he.

But the problem now wasn't a lack of comforts. Rather, he was nervous about the dinner, though he would never admit it out loud. It had been four full years since he'd last been in the castle, and apart from some select few memories, he had no good recollection of the castle at all.

Of course, it was one of those few good memories which gave him the strength and motivation to finish priming himself. After all, he was an officer of Her Majesty's Army, as well as a gentleman. He thus had to _look_ like one.

Through the use of a combination of muggle hair products, Harry had _finally_ managed to slick back his hair into the short low ponytail that had become symbolic of British officers. Tying it with the midnight blue hairbow was slightly difficult, but he had become used to it.

After he had finished with his hair, which took a considerable time, considering its defiance in staying down, Harry buttoned up his beige vest, a shade darker than his white shirt underneath. After he was done, he elegantly put on his dress red coat, full with golden lacings and other symbols of his rank. He then slid on his officer's sash and clipped his saber to his belt.

Looking himself in the mirror once more, he nodded with reluctant acceptance at his appearance. Behind him, someone clapped. Harry did not need to turn around to know it was Blackthorne.

"You look dashing, sir Harry," noted Blackthorne with a mocking tone.

"Mind your tone, Blackthorne," warned Harry.

"Touchy, aren't we?" replied Blackthorne, "It's not like you haven't done this before, sir."

"Those were official receptions!" he protested, "There were others dressed like me! Here, I stand out like a sore thumb!"

Blackthorne chuckled, "True enough, I suppose. But, sir, you have to understand that if you do not go tonight, it would count against your honor, since you've already committed to it."

Harry grudgingly accepted the argument. "Fine. Are the guards ready?" he asked. Blackthorne nodded.

"Four Coldstreamers and two Shielders. The best in both groups," assured the dark haired man. Harry nodded as he put on his officer's hat.

"Very well, let us be off then," he commanded as he strode out of his tent, where his guards were waiting for him.

Behind him, Joachim smiled, eager to see how dinner would play out. "As you wish, sir Harry."

The Great Hall was full when Harry arrived with his guard. Indeed, they had seemed ready to begin the feast when two of Harry's Coldstreamers pushed open the doors forcefully, making them bang against the stone walls.

Harry wasn't really surprised by the looks he was getting. He had to admit, _he_ would have been fairly intimidated if eight people, four of which were armed with long halberds and a musket strapped to their back, had suddenly burst in during dinner time.

However, not letting the stares get the better of him, He confidently strode towards the Head Table. He was, however, cut off, when a young blonde teen cut across his way. Judging by the boy's haughty look and two lumps behind him, Harry guessed this was Lucius Malfoy's son, Draco.

"Evening, Potter, I'm—" he started, but was cut off by four pointy halberds which had somehow found themselves pointing at his face in a flash. Behind the four glaring Coldstreamers, Harry heard the two shielders take two of the slung muskets and prime them. He also heard the distinct click of Blackthorne priming his own pistol.

"You will show respect to your superiors," intoned Blackthorne from his position right behind Harry. Harry could see Blackthorne's arm as he pointed the pistol at Malfoy. "This is Lieutenant-Colonel Potter, of Her Majesty's Imperial Forces. You will address him by his rank, death eater spawn," he spat.

"Mr. Potter, I must object to this!" came Dumbledore's protest as he and his staff made their way towards the scene, the students around them gaping in horror and shock at what was happening.

"Stay out of this, headmaster," warned Blackthorne as his aim changed to the headmaster, shocking the student body even more, "And mind you don't forget your own manners."

Dumbledore seemed troubled by the outright threat, but realized he really could not challenge Potter's authority, not while the three regiments were firmly under his command and possessing of siege equipment. He rather liked his school in one piece.

"My apologies, Mr. Blackthorne," he apologized, "Colonel, I really must protest. The boy has done no harm," Behind him, Snape was slowly reaching for his wand, which one of the Shielders noticed, for a musket barrel was now aimed at the professor's chest.

"I dare you, laddie" challenged the Shielder. Snape's hand shot away from the wand.

"Mr. Malfoy here has failed to show proper decorum in face of an officer of Her Majesty's Army, Dumbledore," informed Blackthorne, "That is enough to risk the wrath of the Colonel's guard. To make things worse, his father is one the scum we've vowed to eradicate"

Dumbledore seemed to be getting more agitated as the rest of the student body went abuzz with hushed discussion. "Would an apology suffice to rectify the problem, Mr. Blackthorne?" he asked.

Blackthorne looked at Harry, who merely nodded absently. Blackthorne then nodded at the headmaster.

"Excellent. Mr. Malfoy, please apologize for your mistake to the Colonel" ordered Dumbledore.

"What?! I will not—" started Malfoy, outraged, but was cut off by Dumbledore's angry, "NOW!"

Malfoy and the rest of the students were immediately cowed by Dumbledore's outburst. They had never seen the man angry before.

"My apologies, Colonel" mumbled the teen. Apparently, it was enough, for the Coldstreamers nodded and leaned the halberds back against their shoulder. The Shielders, however, did not place the muskets back, but did push the cock back into its safety setting. Blackthorne followed suit as he tucked his pistol in his belt.

Harry merely nodded, not really paying attention to the situation. He was too busy remembering the other time he'd been in Hogwarts, but more particularly, about the one person he _really_ wanted to see right now.

He snapped out of his reverie, however, when Blackthorne nudged him in the ribs subtly. He nodded crisply at Malfoy before making his way towards the Head Table, Dumbledore and his shocked staff behind them.

Once everyone was seated, with Harry occupying the seat of honor next to Dumbledore and with the guard standing behind him, Dumbledore stood up to introduce him.

"My dear students!" he announced, "As you have all seen and probably know, Hogwarts will be playing host to a great number of guests this year," he informed, "Our guests are none other than soldiers of Her Majesty, the Queen's, Imperial Army."

There were several gasps of shock from both pureblooded (outraged shocks for the most part) and muggleborns (dumbfounded shock). However, soon enough, many of the halfbloods and muggleborns were shouting "Long live the Queen!"

All the while, Harry was smiling at the reception he was getting from the muggleborns, halfbloods, and some purebloods.

Dumbledore waved the shouts down with a smile, but was slightly troubled by the warm reception Harry was being given. He had not realized the extent of the students' patriotism. This could somehow disturb his plans to oust the army.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure we're all glad to play host to such fine men and women," he said genially, pushing down his concerns, "However, I must ask you not to venture into their camps. I have been informed that said camps are at the gates of the school and near the wall, on the other side of the lake. During Hogsmeade weekends, students will be escorted through the camp."

Dumbledore now came to what he believed would be the most important part of his speech. "I also have the pleasure to present these fine men and women's commander. I give you, Lieutenant-Colonel Harry James Potter!"

Harry gracefully rose from his seat and gave a light bow to the student body, who was silent at first, to Dumbledore's and Snape's glee. Said glee, however, quickly vanished as the Gryffindors suddenly exploded in applause and cheers, followed by the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Only the Slytherins seemed to reluctantly clap.

Harry merely smiled and held a hand up in thanks as the student body cheered for him. Dumbledore and Snape, however, momentarily held an expression that would seem as if someone had killed their favorite puppy. Dumbledore's expression quickly went back to being genial, but Harry had caught it and so had Blackthorne. Both smirked at each other.

Dumbledore finally turned to Harry when the cheers were dying down. "Perhaps a few words, Colonel?" he asked politely, hoping Potter did not intend to speak.

Unfortunately, Harry did intend to give a speech. "Indeed, thank you, headmaster," he thanked the older man as he stood up.

"Citizens of the Crown!" he began with his arms wide, "Thank you for your warm welcome. I will be sure to inform Her Majesty of Hogwarts' most gracious and loyal welcome!" he declared, to the cheers of much of the student body, "It is an honor for myself, at my age, to have been chosen for the important duty of being Officer in Charge of the Scottish Lands! I will strive my best to keep yourselves, and the rest of Scotland, as free and safe as possible!"

Harry continued through the cheers, "I will not lie, my fellow citizens. My men are soldiers; men and women who had dedicated their lives to the upholding of Crown and Empire. These are men who are trained to kill. But I tell you now! My enemy is not you, but rather the scum who call themselves Death Eaters!" he announced, causing everyone not in Slytherin (although some seemed covertly pleased about the announcement) to cheer loudly. "I swear, as I stand on this podium, that I will eradicate this threat from Scotland! I will hunt down every last one of them, until there are none left! Rule Britannia!" he roared

By now, the cheers were deafening, with cries of "God save the Queen!" and "Rule Britannia!" being shouted left and right. Dumbledore managed to keep a cheerful look this time, even though he was deeply disturbed by the students' support of Potter. He had expected them to rally around Malfoy's cause and see Potter as a tyrant and oppressor. It had seemed as if he'd overestimated Malfoy's popularity, by a very large scale.

As Harry sat down, he looked at the headmaster genially. "I shall inform Her Majesty of the warm reception Hogwarts has granted us, headmaster," he told the old man, "I daresay she will be most pleased."

Dumbledore merely nodded humbly, "Obliged, Colonel."

Harry smiled. "Good, then how about we dig in, eh? I'm famished!"

It wasn't until at least an hour later when Harry left the castle with his guard. It took him another hour to dismiss his guard, walk into the tent, receive reports from all the units he commanded, and signed any supply form he needed to sign. It wasn't until nearly midnight when Blackthorne arrived at his tent opening.

By this time, Harry was writing a letter to his parents. He looked up as he heard Blackthorne approach and sighed as he put away his quill. He then calmly entwined his hands on his lap as he looked at his comrade.

"What is it, Blackthorne?" he asked, somewhat wearily. Blackthorne merely smiled.

"I've brought a visitor, Colonel" he told the young officer.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I thought we weren't allowing any students into the camps, Blackthorne," he reminded the older man, who merely grinned as he stood beside the open flap and pulled it wider, allowing entry to a petite cloaked figure.

"I think you'll like this one's company, Colonel," remarked the older man as he slowly left the tent. "I'll be leaving you alone now, Colonel. Pleasant night, sir."

With that, Blackthorne left the tent.

Inside, Harry was eyeing the cloaked figure curiously, before his eyes widened slightly.

"_You?_" he breathed, nearly ecstatic with joy, "How did you manage to get all the way out here?" he asked, though still gleeful.

"You should know that no wards or barriers can keep me from seeing my husband," came the feminine reply from within the hood as the figure pulled back her hood, revealing a smiling face.

Harry had to restrain himself from jumping her right there and then. Instead, he gracefully got out of his chair and hugged her tightly before planting a deep kiss on her lips. He savored her taste for a few minutes before reluctantly pulling away with a concerned look on his face.

"Have you been alright? No one suspects you, do they?" he asked worriedly. If anything could be said to hold higher priority than his current duties, it was the safety of his wife.

His wife merely laughed lightly, music to his ears. "Of course not, Harry!" she chided him playfully, "I've been taking care of myself and our agents quite well. One of them in particular sends his hellos, by the way" she added, raising an eyebrow at him.

Harry immediately got the message. "Right, tell him I said 'hi' back, would you?" He sighed as he stroked her cheek gently. "I missed you," he whispered.

She looked at him with a gentle expression, "I missed you too," she whispered back as they leaned into another kiss; this one far more gentle than the previous ones. She suddenly pulled back and slapped him slightly on the arm, frowning at him. "I haven't forgotten about our interview, though," she told him, though the smile on her face told him she had forgiven him. She then leaned in for another kiss.

Slowly, the kiss began to get bit by bit more intense, until finally, both of their hands started wandering. Soon, they decided to move their activities to a more suitable location—Harry's bed.


	5. Reunions and Plans

The next few weeks passed without much fuss, with students going about their daily schedules practically on a mechanical basis, while Harry's troops drilled all day long, unless one particular group of them were sent off on missions.

So far, however, no conflict had arisen between the Imperial forces and the student body of Hogwarts; much to the frustration of Albus Dumbledore.

The peaceful cooperation between student and soldier put a huge dent in his plans to alienate Harry from the student body and his troops. Not even the Malfoy boy had dared overtly insult or provoke the troops; for he knew _too_ well that they were just _itching_ for an excuse to have him put against a wall and shot.

The worse part was that Dumbledore did not have the authority to overrule such an action.

In essence, Dumbledore was slowly becoming a prisoner within his own school, being restricted to the rules set down by the military, which the troops enforced with an iron fist.

Several times now, some students had been caught wandering too close to the troop encampments on both sides of the lake, and every time, the troops politely escorted the students back.

But now, the first real challenge was going to occur, as the first Hogsmeade weekend approached.

If the students could restrain their enthusiasm long enough for them to be escorted to the gates, then the peace would be maintained.

However, if some misguided student made any sudden moves with his/her wand, then the peace could easily be broken.

Personally, Dumbledore wished for the latter.

"Why do we have to do this?" whined Ron as the students heading to Hogsmeade assembled in the courtyard under the steely supervision of professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Snape.

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Like I told you _for the past fifteen times_, _Ronald_, we're doing this because we need to cross the troop encampment near the gates. They don't want us to wander" she explained, rather frustrated with having to repeat herself every five minutes.

"Oh, give up, Hermione," snickered Ginny, "If you haven't convinced him after the first three times, it's a lost cause" Beside her, Neville chuckled. Ron glared at the two.

"What's this?" drawled a voice behind him. As they turned around, they saw the smirking face of Draco Malfoy, "Have you Weasleys finally realized how _laughable_ it is to be poor and associate with mudbloods?"

Ron growled and made a move to reach for his wand, but Hermione caught his arm before he could, while Ginny and Neville merely glared at Draco. Draco merely smirked wider as he saw the inaction of the group.

"What's the matter? Finally realized you can't hope to defeat a pureblood like me, blood traitors?" he goaded, not realizing that as he did, a looming shadow was slowly covering him from behind.

In fact, Draco started to get confused when he noticed that each of his enemies were beginning to pale as they looked at something behind him. Slowly, Draco turned around to meet the imposing figure of one of the Highlander sergeants, halberd in hand and all. The man was glaring down at Draco severely, making the teen gulp audibly.

"What do ya think you're doing, boy?" asked the sergeant, "Inciting trouble, eh? That won't do; no, that won't do at all," leered the Scotsman, whose fingers were absentmindedly stroking the halberd pole, "I do believe you'll be staying at school for this. Yes, wouldn't do to have troublemakers be allowed to walk with disciplined students."

Malfoy gaped at the man as the Scotsman turned to have a word with one of the teachers who, after listening at the explanation and trying to convince the Scotsman to retract his ruling, sighed in defeat with slumped shoulders and nodded. Malfoy slowly purpled at the sight, and was about to begin ranting loudly when the teacher's eyes shot to him and glared furiously, slightly motioning towards her sides. Looking both ways, Malfoy paled as he saw that every single assigned soldier was looking at him intently, as if hoping he would make a false move.

Deciding to show he was a true Slytherin, he gathered up whatever dignity he had left and turned on his heel, stomping his way back inside.

Many of the soldiers sighed disappointedly as they turned back to surveying the crowd.

For her part, Hermione looked at the sergeant gratefully, "Thank you, sir"

The older man looked at her with a gaze of serene calm, "I didn't do it for you, lass. Had you or your friends pulled out wands, you'd be sent back in as well," he informed her curtly before turning and resuming his patrolling.

Neville whistled under his breath, "They sure take their duties seriously," he remarked.

Hermione and the rest could do nothing more than nod.

The march towards the main gate was a quiet one, with some conversation occurring here and there, but most students seem to be in silent agreement not to say anything, lest it provoke their escort.

As the file progressed, the students took note of a group of redcoats who were forming up far to their right, near the Quidditch pitch. As if sensing the unasked question, the sergeant leading the column loudly explained that they were training.

In an act of goodwill, the sergeant allowed the column to stop as they watched the redcoats file up into the two-rank system they were used to. There were approximately one hundred and fifty soldiers in total, most students estimated.

"Soldiers!" they could hear, "Make ready!"

As one, the soldiers slammed their musket butts down to the ground and speedily loaded their weapons. Once they were done, they put them back against their shoulders.

"Present!" the officer called, his saber now in the air. As one, the unit put their rifles at shoulder height and took aim at some invisible target.

"FIRE!"

Almost every student jumped in the air or to the ground as a collective roll of thunder-like noise exploded. Smoke rose from the barrels of the muskets as the officer seemed to take note of something, before turning his attention back to his men. "Reload!" he barked.

And again, the soldiers repeated the routine, up to when the officer cried, "FIRE!" again. Once again, the students jumped.

From their position at the head of the column, Hermione and the others heard the sergeant chuckle with some of his men.

"Getting slow, aren't they?" remarked the sergeant, to the laughter of the others.

"Aye. McDoughy's company can fire quicker. 4 shots in a minute, last I heard."

"Old Dough still has that record?" asked one of the other soldiers, "Didn't Avery's company beat him? 4 shots in 50, from what I heard."

The sergeant gave the man a condescending smile, "Four in fifty? Nah. T'aint possible. Someone must've had you on."

Everyone, even the soldier who made the remark, laughed at that. Beside her, Ron looked at Hermione with a confused look.

"Are they mad, Hermione? What the bloody hell are they talking about?" he asked.

Hermione gave him a sharp gaze, "Language, Ron!" she chided, before explaining, "They must be talking about how many times they can shoot in a minute, from what I understand of military terminology," she reasoned.

Ron gave her an odd look. "What's so special about that?"

Ginny gave her brother a look of amazement. "Are you really this dense, Ron?" she asked, making Neville chuckle, "How many times do you think you can fire spells per minute?"

Ron shrugged. "Dunno. Once? Maybe twice?" he guessed, though he had a feeling where this was going.

Ginny nodded, "Right. So, if you can fire a spell twice in a minute, but these men can fire four times, who do you think is most likely to get hit?"

Ron blanched. "Oh."

Hermione sighed as she shook her head. "It still doesn't seem right to garrison an _army_ in a school. We aren't even at war!"

Neville took up this one. "Not at war, Hermione? Do you even _know_ what war is?"

Hermione looked scandalized at Neville's insinuation. "Of _course_ I know what war is!" she nearly shrieked, "It's the state of armed conflict between two more or nations!"

Neville looked at her sadly as he shook his head slowly. "War isn't just between two nations, 'Mione," he told her sadly, "If that were true, then those who lost people during Voldemort's last reign would not have lost their loved ones"

"War happens everywhere. Between two people, five, ten, one hundred, one thousand, millions, billions. It destroys and it builds; it kills and gives birth; it encompasses everything and everyone," he lectured, to her disbelief,

"But—"

"These men," he continued, interrupting her as he waved in the direction of the talking soldiers, "have been trained to kill. They were taken from their families or volunteered, but they can never return to society as just another person. They've blood on their hands. But with that blood, they make us safe. The Death Eaters have declared war on the Wizarding and Muggle world, 'Mione, make no mistake. These men are here because if they weren't, we'd be worse off."

Hermione looked shocked as Neville finished his lecture, and some of the soldiers who'd overheard looked impressed with the young man. Even the rough sergeant was nodding approvingly. The men, however, snapped to attention as they looked at someone beside Neville.

As the group turned around, they were shocked to see Harry on a horse, looking down at Neville with approval. Beside him, on another horse, was Blackthorne, who was giving the teen an agreeable smile.

"An excellent speech, Mr. Longbottom," praised Harry, "Wouldn't you say so, Blackthorne?"

"Most excellent indeed, sir" agreed the older man.

"I daresay you might make a career in the army, Mr. Longbottom," carried on Harry, barely taking notice of his advisor's agreement, "Only soldiers understand soldiers."

Neville blushed as he ducked his head, "It was nothing, sir."

Harry laughed, "Nonsense! It was one of the best lectures I've heard on the subject!" he added, "Most of the others always have to do with either logical reasoning for armies or some wild crackpot religious basis for war. No, that was an insightful look into the aspect of a soldier," he remarked, making the teen blush even more.

After pausing a moment, Harry smiled at the teen once more before reigning in his horses and getting ready to ride off. "I would be honored if you would dine with me tonight in my tent, Mr. Longbottom. You may bring, of course, a guest," he offered before turning to the sergeant.

"Sergeant!"

"Sir!"

"I assume all's well with the escort?"

"Very well, sir! We had to send back the Malfoy boy, sir, but other than that, very well, sir!"

Harry nodded approvingly. "Good, carry on. I'm sure these students would like to spend the rest of the day _at_ the town, sergeant."

"Yes, sir!"

With that, Harry and Blackthorne nodded to the group of students once more, saluted the sergeant, and then rode off towards the encampment ahead.

"He invited Mr. Longbottom to diner, you say?" asked the Headmaster that same afternoon to professor Sinistra, who had been present when the offer was made.

The young witch nodded as she blushed slightly at the memory of the young Colonel. "He was most impressed with Mr. Longbottom's rhetoric," she remarked.

Dumbledore merely gave a grunt of absent assent. What worried him more was the possibility of his _two_ candidates for the Prophecy becoming friends, especially when one of them was clearly not willing to work very closely with himself, while the other wasn't as deep in his grasp as he liked.

"I have it understood that Mr. Longbottom will be taking Ms. Weasley with him, tonight," added Sinistra helpfully. Dumbledore gave another absent motion of assent before going back to his thoughts.

'_Perhaps the situation is not unsalvageable. Surely, the Potter boy cannot bring Longbottom into his camp in one night. Maybe if I turn Longbottom into my own voice…'_ he mused, '_Yes, that_ _will have to do. I'll begin tomorrow.'_

Turning his thoughts back to reality, Dumbledore turned to his youngest staff member and nodded. "Please inform Minerva that I need to see Mr. Longbottom tomorrow morning, after breakfast, Aurora. That will be all."

With the clear dismissal, Sinistra bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement before she turned and left the room.

_Meanwhile, in Harry's Tent…_

Harry took a sip of wine as he regarded his guests. Seated in front of him were Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley. Last he'd seen Neville had been back in 1993, near the end of the 1992-1993 school year, when he had saved Ginny's life.

"I trust everything has been well at Hogwarts these past few years?" he asked casually.

Neville grinned. "If by 'well' you mean, does the old man know about what we're doing for you, then yes. It _has_ been a good few years, Harry," answered the teen. Harry grinned back.

"He has no clue?"

"None" answered Ginny this time, smiling at Harry. "Neville here's been posing as my boyfriend, so we've been generally left alone."

Harry raised an eyebrow at that, "Indeed?" he mused as he turned to Neville, "I trust you haven't gone beyond your duty in safeguarding _that_ secret? This _is_ my wife we're talking about here, Nev."

Neville grinned. "Nah. People _assume_ we've snogged and whatnot, but we've never actually done anything," he informed his long-time friend. Beside him, Ginny giggled.

"Are you jealous, Mr. Potter?" she asked, wiggling her eyebrows, making him laugh.

"Should I be, Mrs. Potter?" he retorted with a grin.

Ginny merely gave him a smile. "It really _has_ been too long since we've seen you, Harry," she stated, to which Neville nodded.

Harry sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I _am_ sorry about that, you know. But, with the assignments at the IMI _and_ my tour of duty being activated _during_ that time, I really couldn't find any free time," he apologized, "Truly, I _did_ want to come here to see you two, but I'd rather it not have been _here_," he added, scowling a bit as his gaze went towards the tent flap, which pointed towards the castle.

Ginny put a reassuring hand on his own, smiling at him. "We understand, Harry. We really do," she told him, making Neville nod again. "Besides, with what you've asked of us, there's never a truly boring moment in this school."

Neville smirked at that. "She's right. We find dirt on everyone every passing day. We could probably blackmail the entire castle by this point. Ghosts included," he claimed, making Harry laugh and Ginny giggle.

"So how _have_ the others been?" he asked.

Neville shrugged. "Blaise and his Slytherin team are ok, I guess. We don't meet as often as we would like because it would look suspicious. Susan and Hannah are great, as far as I know," he added, blushing slightly at the mention of Susan Bones, which Harry noted.

"Cheating on my wife, Longbottom?" he asked with a smirk.

Neville returned it. "Says the man who hasn't announced to the world who his wife is. Or that he's married, for that matter," retorted the teen, making Harry laugh.

"Touché" granted Harry before turning to Ginny and smiling softly. "How about from your end? How are the others?

Ginny shrugged as well. "Fred and George are ok, I guess. They left school, though. Opened a joke shop in Diagon Alley. That's their public face, anyway. Whenever they can, though, they're mass producing the rifles that Maximilian gave them," she told him, making him nod approvingly, "Colin and his brother are fine, too. Hyperactive as ever, but fine. Seamus is as rowdy as ever, but Dean's trying to control him. Luna is…well...Luna, I guess. She still writes the reports, though. Ernie and Zach are ok, I guess. I don't meet with them very often, and Susan and Hannah tend to tell us what those two are up to," she reported.

Harry nodded with a smile. "Good. Now then, any information on our resident Death Eater spawn?"

Neville shook his head. "As far as we can tell, they've been laying low. Even after Malfoy Senior was identified positively as a Death Eater, Draco is still allowed within the school," he reported with a snort of disgust.

Harry nodded, "I was wondering about that. Who--?"

"Dumbledore" answered Ginny to the unasked question, "He's hell bent on trying to make the Death Eater children to sway from the dark. Noticeably, he's failing. Miserably."

Neville frowned at her, "That's a little unfair, though, Ginny. Blaise and Daphne aren't dark.

Ginny rolled her eyes, "But they aren't Light, either. Nor are we, if you'll recall," she added, nudging her head towards Harry's direction. "We're royalists, like Harry. We're both Light _and_ Dark."

Harry chuckled at that, as did Neville.

"That reminds me, Gin, Mum says hi," he told her, making her smile radiantly

"You got to see her?" she asked, excitedly. She and Lily Potter had gotten on very well since their first meeting. According James Potter, it had been because they were nearly identical in all things but looks. That had, of course, resulted in him being smacked by two scowling witches. "When? Why didn't you tell me this last time?" she added.

"Last week. Before we shipped out. And I forgot to tell you last time because I forgot, dear, in the heat of the moment" he deadpanned.

Neville laughed at that, while Ginny blushed at the memory.

And so they continued for the next hour or so, bantering back and forth before they went down to strict business.

"What's our next move, then, Harry?" asked Neville, nodding when Blackthorne entered the tent and greeted both him and Ginny. Blackthorne looked interestedly at Harry at that.

Harry leaned back in his chair as he considered his plans.

"For now, we'll continue our current routine. The troops stay where they are and man the walls, while leaving the castle alone. However, with some Death Eater incursions occurring all over Scotland, some of them may be leaving the grounds from time to time," he told them,

"However, when December hits, that's when our plans change," he noted.

"Colonel?" prompted Blackthorne, a confused look on his face.

"Recall the information my father sent us three days ago. It marks the location of a Death Eater stronghold in Scotland. While I'd rather attack during a warmer season, this fortress is most _invulnerable_ during that time due to a large river cutting access to it from land," he stated as he stood up and retrieved a map from his desk and unrolled it on the (now) cleared table.

"If we attack during the warmer season, we'll be bogged down by the water and need to pass it by boats, which is incredibly foolhardy, since that means they can shoot down large scores of men in small areas. That is unacceptable. Therefore, we will be attacking during December, when the river's water will freeze," he explained as he drew a pointer to its full length and then put its tip on the bank opposite the fortress.

"Our troops will be moving in a line, so as to distribute the weight on the ice accordingly and thus safeguarding its integrity. The problem with our current situation, however, is that I need approximately 90 of my troops to perform this siege," he told them, emphasizing the percentage to his audience, all of whom seemed to understand his message.

"You're afraid Dumbledore will try something while you're out," stated Ginny softly. Harry nodded grimly.

"It will be an ideal situation for him, as I'll also need my ships with me, leaving the garrison here severely undefended against Dumbledore, should he try anything," he added, collapsing the pointer. "At best, only about three hundred to four hundred muskets and only one hundred rifles will be here. That's easy to overwhelm with his Order and maybe some Ministry assistance."

"You think the Ministry will aid Dumbledore?" asked Blackthorne, somewhat surprised.

Harry looked at Blackthorne with a raised eyebrow. "Of course they will. Fudge hates me, Joachim. He'll probably get together with Dumbledore sometime during early December and plot the capture of my men. Probably arrest them under some bogus charge."

"Wouldn't the men from the 78th and 96th be able to keep them at bay, though? I mean, sure, it's a small amount of troops, but surely they can keep Aurors and the Order away, right?" he suggested. Harry shook his head slowly.

"Unfortunately, even if I left my five hundred best shooters behind, they would still be overwhelmed. Remember, Neville, they're not expecting to be attacked from the inside, and even if I did warn them, ammo _does_ run out eventually, and the Auror forces is fairly large. Eventually, the Aurors would overpower my men, especially with the assistance of Dumbledore's lackeys."

"Of course, this is all speculative, but my gut tells me that Dumbledore will take his chance when I leave," he concluded to the group. Blackthorne nodded in agreement with his logic, as did Neville and Ginny.

"What are we going to do then?" asked Neville.

"Well, if he _does_ take out my men, I want you and the others to look after them and stash the firearms at the emergency cache," answered Harry.

"What about you? What are you going to do if Dumbledore takes over?" asked Ginny worriedly. He was, after all, her _husband_.

Harry grinned evilly. "Remember that siege equipment we brought from Canada?" he asked them. The resulting grins' feral nature told him they did.


	6. March on Serpent Fortress

_Two months later…_

The two months following Harry's meeting with Neville and Ginny passed by quickly. As Harry had ordered, the army and his operatives remained as routine as possible, though the flow of information coming from his operatives steadily did show signs of Ministry-Dumbledore cooperation. The first sign had shown up a week before Halloween, when Fudge had a secret meeting with Dumbledore, which, of course, his operatives managed to record with the charms, spells, and devices they'd put into place in Dumbledore's office.

From there, Dumbledore and Fudge had met every other week, and always on random days of the week. By Halloween, Fudge did not seem to bother hiding his presence in the school anymore. The reports remained consistent, though.

The Ministry was willing to work with Dumbledore to evict the royalist presence from Hogwarts and the United Kingdom.

But the two months weren't just work for Harry and his friends. On interspersed days, Harry invited Neville and Ginny to diner or lunch, continuing with the cover that Harry had been impressed with Neville's rhetoric.

By the second meeting, however, Neville had told him that Dumbledore had approached him and tried to sway him over to his side; probably in the hopes of using him to lure Harry over. The three had a good laugh at that. Harry did, however, ask Neville to _seem_ like he was agreeing with Dumbledore.

Once or twice after that, Harry even invited Susan Bones to dine with the group, much to Neville's embarrassment and Ginny and Harry's amusement. Susan's excuse for the headmaster was that Harry had been told about her acute abilities in healing charms, which had triggered Harry's curiosity.

By the second time they'd all met, Susan had told them that she was being asked by the headmaster to use her…_wiles_ to lure Harry away from military service. The resulting laugh had Harry and Ginny breathless and Neville clutching his chest in pain as his breathing shortened.

Fortunately for the Potters, though, Harry was able to secure two nights every week for he and his wife to relax together during the evening, always making sure that she returned unseen with the help of the other operatives or Harry's own men.

After all, a satisfied general was a clear-headed one.

By the time November hit, however, Harry began to change the routine of his army. Donning the winter wear assigned to them, he began ordering winter drills performed daily and as frequent as possible, including trench digging and siege tactics. As a measure of comfort and to alleviate the men's load, however, he did order warming charms to be placed upon the soldiers' tents. The uniforms themselves already had them.

It was while watching one of these drills, a siege artillery drill to be precise, that Dumbledore approached Harry about the change in routine.

"We've found a Death Eater stronghold further north, headmaster," Harry had told the older man, "Come December, we're marching north to eradicate it, as per my orders. Don't worry, though, we'll be leaving a small garrison behind to safeguard the school."

From that day on, Harry's operatives had reported nearly daily sightings of Fudge in Hogwarts.

Finally, December hit and Harry ordered the preparations to march to begin. Almost as soon as the word was spread to the camps did chaos erupt in them as soldiers scrambled to pack their spare uniforms, ammo, tents, cooking utensils, and other miscellaneous items in their packs.

As Harry sat in his tent signing the last orders for the ships, which were to submerge and reappear on a position behind the stronghold, Dumbledore walked in with Blackthorne at his side, looking at the man warily and with a hand at his pistol at his side.

"Good afternoon, headmaster" greeted Harry as he finished signing the document and turned to look at the aged man, folding his hands on his lap. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" he inquired calmly and devoid of emotion, showing that the pleasure stated was gone on permanent vacation as far as his presence was involved.

Dumbledore internally winced at the cool reception but kept a smiling expression on the outside. "I heard you were leaving, Colonel," remarked Dumbledore, "I just wished to know what was to be done about the defense of the school."

Harry nodded slowly, thinking '_Defense indeed, you manipulative old goat!'_ "I am leaving behind five hundred men for garrison duty, headmaster. Four hundred muskets and one hundred rifles. They will be under the command of Captains McAllen and Lyles, respectively. They answer, of course, to me; _even_ after I'm gone," he informed the headmaster.

Dumbledore nodded, appearing nonchalant but thinking at rapid speeds on the inside; calculating how many he needed to perform his little takeover. "Very well, Colonel. Will my school be needing to provide anything for the men on garrison duty?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "I find it too cold as it is for my men. While I am gone, I will expect you to feed my men in the Great Hall and provide adequate rooming for them. Every day, they will return to their posts and remain there until meal time, when a small guard will be left at their positions while the rest eat, and then switch with the small guard. When 11:00 PM strikes, my men, with the exception of that night's sentries, will return to the abodes which you will assign to them. I assume there will be no troubles or complaints when I return, headmaster?" he asked archly as he raised an eyebrow.

Dumbledore could only nod, already making plans on exactly _where_ he would be keeping the Potter boy's army. The dungeons would do quite nicely.

Harry nodded as he waved a dismissive hand. "Very well then. Thank you for your visit, headmaster. Unfortunately, I have more paperwork to attend to," he stated dismissively as he returned to his work while Blackthorne escorted Dumbledore outside.

Once he was back within the castle, Dumbledore made a dash for his office, where he stooped to the fireplace and threw a handful of Floo powder, stating clearly, "Minister of Magic's office!"

_Back at Harry's Tent_

"You do know that he's probably contacting Fudge right now, right?" asked Blackthorne as he stepped back into the tent, appreciating the warmth of it with a contented sigh.

Harry didn't even look up from his work. "Of course he is. I told you he'd do so nearly three months ago," he informed his subordinate.

"It doesn't even worry you a bit that you're leaving five hundred good men at his mercy?" asked Blackthorne as he looked at the campaign map once more.

Harry shook his head. "They're good men. They'll perform wonderfully. Even if they _are_ captured, Ginny, Neville, and the others will look after them," he told the older man as he scratched away at the paper with his quill. "Besides, we know the Aurors will not dare use lethal spells on the men. They'd make themselves look like the bad guys."

"And besides," added Harry as he stopped writing and turned to look at Blackthorne, "Can you imagine the rallying effect this will have on the rest? Imagine how they'll fight once they learn that Dumbledore has effectively betrayed us and captured five hundred of their brothers in arms."

Blackthorne merely smiled as he shook his head slowly, disbelievingly. "You're scary sometimes, Harry. Brilliant and ruthless, but scary."

Harry merely smiled innocently as he returned to his work.

_Day of Departure (Day 1)_

Harry stood at the top of the Hogwarts gates as he watched his men walk in column below. He was wearing his heavy winter coat, and every breathe he drew caused a tiny burst of condensation smoke to billow from his mouth. He looked at his men's organized marching for a moment before turning to the two Majors he was leaving behind; Lyles and McAllen.

"You understand the situation, then?" he asked them. Both men nodded at attention.

"We understand, sir! We'll be on the lookout for the old man's men, sir!" exclaimed the younger of the two Captains, Lyles.

Harry nodded. "Good. Remember, fire at them as you would Death Eaters. They will be committing treason against Her Majesty, and we do not suffer traitors to live. Also, remember that they'll be unwilling to use lethal force against you," he told them before giving them a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. Keep to your training, mark your targets well, and you'll do fine. If, in the even you _do_ get overwhelmed, my men on the inside will take care of you."

Both men saluted and he dismissed them with a similar salute. He then turned to Blackthorne, who stood beside him. "Everything ready, then?" he asked.

The older man nodded. "Artillery just went through the gates, sir. The army is now fully deployed."

"Excellent," Harry nodded, "Come, then. We have an appointment with a certain Death Eater stronghold, and I would hate to be late."

Blackthorne gave a feral smile at that. "Of course, sir."

With that, both men descended from the walls and mounted their horses, and were soon off towards the head of the column.

_Three Days later (Day 4)_

"Stronghold ahead, sir! Looks fully manned!"

The Imperial Army had finally reached the Death Eater stronghold in northern Scotland, but rather than finding their target half-manned or barely manned, Harry now saw that its walls were crawling with defenders.

Swearing as he collapsed his telescope, he turned from his lookout point to look at his officers. Blackthorne, unfortunately, was not present, as Harry's father had requested the attaché's help in the search for the artifact that held Voldemort's soul.

"We've been set up, gentlemen," he announced calmly, to the scowls of the officers. "Clearly, someone has tipped off the enemy that we were coming. Unfortunately, we cannot turn back."

"If we do not attack now, we will have to wait until next year to do so, and that is unacceptable, for that means an entire year during which the enemy may improve the defenses, costing us even more men," he added just as calmly. "As such, we are to proceed with the siege. Mr. Allen,"

A young artillery officer saluted. "Sir!"

"I want you to deploy every last cannon we have along the riverbank, pointed directly at the center of the front walls," ordered Harry, "Additionally, I want the two Leviathan-Class cannons we brought to be deployed behind the riverbank cannons. Have them pointed directly at the towers."

The young officer saluted once more before leaving to make the adequate preparations. Harry then turned to one of the infantry commanders.

"Mr. Sharpe, I want you to take the 96th Rifles and position them at the right flank. They will be attacking the right wall once Artillery has finished persuading its defenders to leave their post. Ladders will be needed."

"Sir!" and again, the officer was off.

"Mr. Wolfe, I want the 78th to be placed half on the left flank and half in the center. Take your best men and put them on the left flank. Like the 96th, they are to scale the walls and take that section. Additionally, however, they are to secure the main gate and open it, allowing the other half of the 78th to enter. The 96th will assist."

"Once the rest of your regiment has entered the fortress, I want you to have the Shielders assigned to you to combine their spellwork as a battering ram against the internal gate, all the while providing covering fire for them. Once the inner gate is smashed, lead the army into the inner fortress."

"Yes, sir!"

"And Mr. Wolfe?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Remember. No prisoners."

_The next day (Day 5)_

It was truly magnificent, in a way, to watch an artillery bombardment, mused Harry as he watched his cannons blast away chunks of the defensive outer wall. Shell after shell tore at the stone wall, which the defenders were frantically trying to repair with magic, only to have _them_ torn apart when an artillery squad noticed them and fired directly at them.

He watched as the Leviathan-Class cannons, products of his sister Alexandra's genius, shot massive shells at the defensive outer towers, blasting them apart with two shots each. With each shot, the cannon's barrel was launched backwards, held together only by the enormous springs that made it return to its initial position. It was a magnificent piece of engineering, a fact that made his sister blush every time someone complimented her on it.

Behind the line of cannons, he watched as the men from the 78th and 96th Rifles cheered whenever a shot blasted away Death Eaters, or whenever the Leviathans blasted away a tower. Most of the time, he felt like cheering with them, but remembered to keep his composure.

Eventually, the Leviathans blasted away the last outer defensive towers, which signaled that the assault would occur the next day, since he wanted a steady bombardment to occur all throughout the night to keep the enemy off-balance.

As he turned to move back to his tent, he watched as the cheers slowly died out as the men came to realize that with the towers gone, it was their turn. He sighed as he entered his tent and sat on the field chair, uncorking a bottle of wine and pouring himself a glass as he did so, and then promptly downed it in one go.

"_Through smoke and fire and shot and shell,_" he sang in a whispered voice, "_Unto the very walls of hell. We shall stand and we shall stay; Over the hills and far away…_"

Little did he know that many others in the camp sang the same song.


	7. For Queen and Empire

_A/N: This is to simply respond to several valid comments (and one not-so-valid) that were made in past reviews._

_On the issue of muskets, the reason for their use is dictated within the Technomancy "laws" I designed for this AU. These laws are -not- meant to be universal (applicable to -all- Technomancy fics). However, they -do- explain, to -my- satisfaction, why muskets must be used as opposed to a bit more modern weaponry. Whether or not these "laws" will be posted up in the future for individual reference (and inspiration) is still subject to debate._

_On the issue of Dumbledore's manipulations, suffice to say that this is merely the first of five stories dealing with this Story Arc, "Officer of the Empire". For those concerned readers who deem him too inept as it is, keep reading. He hasn't even started._

_Lastly, on a point I deem less important as far as story quality is concerned; Yes. This is an H/G fic. However, I will not excuse myself for writing that pairing, just as I expect all future reviews (not that any have been made in this regard yet) to be devoid of any scathing remarks on my person for writing this pairing. As I've warned in my profile, I will not tolerate any unsubstantiated reviews devoid of -constructive- criticisms that are made instead on the basis of pairing. However, if you have a problem with a character as he/she is portrayed in this fic, bearing in mind its AU nature, then feel free to comment on that character._

_The Morning After…(Day 6)_

The day had dawned dry and without wind. Indeed, there seemed to be an eerie stillness about as Harry oversaw his troops from atop his horse, in front of the troops. He gazed at his steel-eyed men once more, as if committing them all to memory, before beginning his speech.

"Men" he began, keeping his voice only loud enough so that all could hear, "You stand now here, before the very walls of yet _another_ hell to fulfill your oath to duty to the Crown!"

"But do not see this as yet another miserable task in a miserable life!" he continued, "For every battle is an opportunity in itself! A chance to rise beyond the mere concepts of normality! An opportunity to attain glory!"

"Whatever the books say, history remembers courage! History remembers valor! History remembers the brave!" he called out, "And if you are not brave men, then I do hereby state that I've only met cowards! For you, you men, you are Her Majesty, the Queen of the British Empire's, instrument of justice! Her voice of order in times of chaos! Her chiding hand towards the ungrateful children that dare to rise against her!"

"I could say that you are not the best," he stated, "But that would be a lie! For you _are_ the best! You have _trained_ to be the best! You have fought the enemy's elite, and _triumphed_! Men will tell me that they know of better men!" he continued, "But let that man show me a better man, and I will show him a _liar_!" he exclaimed, to the increasing cheers of the men.

"Remember for whom you fight! Remember that the British Empire looks today upon you as her brave sons!" he yelled, to the near deafening cheers, "Show Her Majesty that we are the rightful claimants of the title of the Wolves of the Empire! But remember above all…" he took a deep breath, before screaming, "_RULE BRITANNIA!_"

The answering cheers were feral, loud, and full of promise of death for their enemies. Cries of "Rule Britannia!" and "Long live the Empire!"

Harry then drew his sword and pointing it at the fortress, cried out, "_BRITANNIA VICTOR! FORWARD!"_

As one, the mass of soldiers began marching in near-perfect lines across the frozen river, the shielders ahead of the lines, ready to set up defensive spells at a moment's notice.

Nodding in approval at the march, Harry then turned to the drums and fifes. "British Grenadiers if you will, Mr. Jenkins" he requested. The leader of the musical party nodded as he gave a similar order for marching, the drums and fifes, led by the flag bearers (who held the Queen's Colours and the Regimental standards), began playing _The British Grenadiers_, to the cheers of the marching soldiers.

Harry gave a sad, almost longing look at the backs of his men. He wished he was amongst them, sharing in their burden. Unfortunately, military law forbade him from taking part.

"Good luck, men" he spoke calmly as he lifted his saber in salute, "May the gods be with you."

_Death Eater Fortress Outer Walls; That same day…_

James Michaels was a relatively new recruit to the Death Eaters. He had taken part in his initiation ceremony merely a few weeks ago. His first assignment had been to stand garrison in what was _supposed_ to be a quiet fortress whom no one in the Light knew about.

Obviously, that had gone horribly wrong for the last few days.

First, there was news that an army was approaching the fortress. That had prompted Death Eater Command to send in over 800 men in reinforcements. A few days later, the army had indeed appeared on the horizon, but either someone had misread the intelligence, or the one who gave it was a blind moron. The size of the army he was seeing was at least seven times greater than the reinforcements.

And then it got worse.

The army started bombarding the fortress.

James had never experienced a more horrifying day in his life as when the shells began hitting the walls and towers. It wasn't enough that the normal shells were severely damaging the outer wall, but the two _massive_ cannons behind them were tearing apart the defensive towers, where the Death Eaters had massed several anti-personnel artifacts. Then, when several of his comrades tried to repair the walls, the cannon aim was redirected directly at them and they were soon blasted away.

Unfortunately, the bombing had not ended with nightfall. In addition to the cannons across the river blasting away, reports came in of ships at the rear of the fortress blasting indiscriminately away at the walls, internal structures, and anything else they could hit. Combined with the riverbank cannons, the resulting cacophony had kept James up the entire night in terror, along with most of the garrison. James had sworn then that nothing could be worse than the bombardment.

Now, half an hour after the break of dawn, he was wishing he'd kept his mouth and thoughts shut.

Unknown to the enemy army, the commanding officer's, Harry Potter, if the intelligence was correct, speech was heard in its entirety to the Death Eaters, whose own valor began to crumble as the resulting cheers chilled them to the bone.

Now, James watched as the Royalist army marched across the river towards the fortress, marching in step to an unfamiliar tune that the drums and fifes were playing behind them.

James once again wondered why the Death Eaters did not simply blast the ice apart, but the proposal had been shot down by the higher ups, much to the garrison's dismay. Apparently, the higher-ups and the reinforcements felt that despite the long range weapons of the enemy, once it came down to individual fighting, the Death Eaters would prevail.

As James watched the enemy approaching, he seriously doubted that conclusion.

_Bottom of the Outer Walls_

The royalist troops had reached the walls in good time, sprinting forward when they'd cleared the river. Immediately, the Death Eaters began to open fire on the approaching mass of soldiers, but the Royalist Shielders seemed to deflect anything that went their way, save for a few killing curses that claimed the lives of those soldiers who failed to dodge the sickly green light.

Hurriedly, the front row of troops began to put up the scaling ladders, with victorious cheers resounding all around as they were set up. With a fierce battle cry, the first soldiers began scaling the walls. Some were killed on the way up from Killing Curses, but most of the Death Eaters were kept at bay due to suppressing fire from the bottom of the walls. Eventually, the first men jumped over the wall. Again, some were killed while others managed to survive by swinging their weapons at the nearest enemy's head.

One such surviving soldier was a young recruit from the 78th Highlanders, one Douglas McIntyre. A native of Edinburgh, Douglas had been a Squib who had been tossed out of the family for his lack of magic. The local recruiting officer had heard of him and sought him out, thus leading to his joining of the Imperial Armed Forces.

At first, he'd grumbled about the rigid discipline and the workload. Now, however, he couldn't be more proud of being part of the Imperial Forces.

With a mighty swing, Douglas split open the Death Eater's skull as he flipped the musket in his hands and fired a shot at another who was readying a spell. A spell whooshed overhead as he ducked, only now realizing that he must've lost his tricorne when he had scaled the wall. Turning around quickly, Douglas speared the offending Death Eater with his bayonet as several more of his comrades scaled the wall.

His company had been the one assigned to take the left wall and the gates. Even here amongst the heated fire, he could hear the regimental bagpipes blast away with the traditional funeral song, as if announcing the imminent death of their enemies.

Douglas pushed a nearby Death Eater against the wall with his musket, struggling to cut the man's air supply as more and more redcoats poured onto the wall. Eventually, Douglas had to keep the pressure up with one hand as he quickly looked for his military issue combat knife and thrust it into the man's side, making the Death Eater gasp in pain.

Twisting the knife, Douglas heard the man scream before crumpling against the wall, leaving Douglas the victor of that particular struggle. He took advantage of the brief respite to load his weapon once more, taking note of several Death Eaters running from the internal structures towards the stairways.

He turned his attention back to his comrades, many of which were running right for the gatehouse. Near the ladder was the company sergeant, who was ordering on the men.

"Sarge!" yelled Douglas, catching the man's attention. The Scotsman pointed directly at the incoming flow of Death Eaters, "Reinforcements from the internal compound!" he elaborated.

The sergeant seemed to understand as he called out for several volunteers to pour fire into the incoming Death Eaters. Douglas immediately volunteered to be one as he took careful aim with his musket. Once he'd acquired his target, he gently pulled back the hammer. He tracked the target with his barrel until he decided it was the opportune moment and then pulled the trigger, initiating a blast of smoke to pour out of his barrel as his Reductor bullet whizzed right at his target.

He whooped as he saw his prey's neck explode in reddish gore, to the horror of the men around him. His comrades similarly whooped as their own bullets found their targets.

As he saw the Death Eaters still coming, though, Douglas knew that several muskets firing into the crowd wouldn't be enough. He told so to the sergeant who seemed to agree.

"Reductor grenades!" bellowed the Scottish sergeant. "Lob 'em right at the bastards, boys!"

Putting down his musket beside him, Douglas fished into his pack for the aforementioned grenade, which was really a red orb with a pin sticking out of it. From what he understood of the grenade and the bullets he fired, the wizards who designed them had managed to compress a specific spell into the body of the shells, but due to their instability, they had to be stored in a compartment that needed to be shot with gunpowder, or in the case of the grenades, be mixed with a neutralizing agent which dissolved the protective shell.

Douglas quickly pulled the pin out and counted to one before lobbing the grenade at the gathering crowd of Death Eaters below. He watched in satisfaction as the grenade blew up above ground, decapitating many a Death Eater and ripping others' body apart.

Fortunately, combined with the grenades of his seven other comrades, the devastation had halted the advance of the Death Eater reinforcements. Nodding approvingly at him, the sergeant ordered the seven other volunteers to follow Douglas into the gatehouse with the rest of the company. Douglas glowed with pride as he realized he had been temporarily promoted to corporal for the duration of the battle.

Douglas quickly picked up his musket as he nodded to his seven comrades and led them towards the gatehouse, only to notice that the company ahead seemed to be unable to break into the gatehouse, unaware that as they tried to bring down the door, a group of Death Eaters was making its way up the stairs behind them. Giving a war cry, Douglas led his men against the oncoming Death Eaters, who seemed surprise at Douglas' charge.

Douglas wordlessly fired a shot at the leading Death Eater, blasting a hole into his chest as he bayoneted the next one, his men right behind him. Yelling fiercely all the way down, the eight Scots fought their way down the stairs, determined to protect the above company's rear.

Douglas slammed his musket's butt into a Death Eater's masked face, making blood splatter all over his face as he did so, but the Scotsman ignored the warm liquid running down his face as he flipped the gun around and swung it at another Death Eater. Behind him, he could hear as his seven comrades performed just as savagely against their foes.

Douglas realized that he was getting really far from the company, however, as he reached the bottom of the stairs, where a mass of Death Eaters awaited. He managed to bayonet one but saw quickly that another was readying to fire a spell at him. He was saved, however, when one of his seven assigned soldiers shot the man in the face, blasting the head away.

The Scotsman realized, however, that such lucky saves would not last unless they had a Shielder, which they didn't. He ducked under a Killing Curse and stabbed yet another Death Eater when he saw from the corner of his eye that a purple spell was going right for him.

'_This is it'_ he thought, '_I'm going to die'_

To his shocked joy, however, the spell bounced off a shield and hit a nearby Death Eater, seemingly eviscerating the man's entire belly. Douglas quickly retreated to a nearer position to his troops, which was when he noticed three new arrivals. One seemed to be wearing Shielder stripes on his red coat, whereas the other two seemed to be riflemen, from the green tunics they were wearing.

"The sergeant said you might be needing some help!" called out the Shielder, who quickly deflected another curse aimed at one of the Scots. Immediately, the offending Death Eater was brought down by one of the riflemen's shooting.

Douglas grinned at the man. "Help? We dinna need any help! We were doing just fine, eh boys?" he called out to his comrades, some of whom seemed injured, but still alive. They all called back affirmatively, making the Shielder laugh.

"Regardless, the company's made it through the gates! Sarge said to retreat back up to the walls!" the Shielder elaborated as he deflected yet another spell and dodged a killing curse. Douglas speared that one.

Douglas nodded at the man's suggestion and called for retreat, which the rest complied with by slowly making their way back up the stairway, fighting every inch of the way. Douglas remained at the front with the Shielder, bayoneting any he could and swinging his musket menacingly at the others. Behind him, he heard the riflemen load and fire several times, also helping the front row to keep the Death Eaters away.

Slowly, Douglas and his men fought their way back up the stairs, always keeping the Death Eaters at bay with musket and rifle fire, as well as the occasional bayonet stabbing. As they reached the top of the stairs, the hail of gunfire that held back the Death Eaters increased as the company of Highlanders began pouring fire over the walls and into the crowd below.

Thrown into confusion by the additional fire, the Death Eaters began to scramble back down the steps, dogged by heavy fire from the musketmen above. Douglas quickly made his way into the gatehouse, where ht finally drew a long breathe as he looked at the sergeant that had sent him off earlier with a grin.

"Flank" gasped Douglas, as he gave a weak salute, "Secured, sir."

The sergeant merely grinned at him. "Excellent work, soldier. I'll see you promoted for this," praised the sergeant, "If you hadn't stopped the buggers when you did, we would have had a damn hard time securing this gatehouse."

Douglas merely gave a weary smile. "Just doing our duty, sir."

Behind the sergeant, one of the men let out a loud cheer. Everyone turned to look at him as the man looked out the window with a grin. "The rest of the 78th is advancing! The colonel is with them!"

A cheer went up in the room as the advance of the 78th meant that the 96th Rifles had also secured their wall, and further indicated the beginning of the end of the siege. The sergeant looked around the room once with a smirk before nodding and pulling back the hammer on his musket.

"Alright, men!" barked the sergeant, "Can't let the other boys have all the fun, can we? Load and make ready!"

As one, the room began preparations for its next advance.

_Fifty meters from the open gates…_

Harry gave a grim smile as he leaned his drawn sword against his shoulder. He could hear the drums and fifes continuing to play _British Grenadiers_, thus leading the pace of the advancing troops.

Harry had decided to forego his horse as he led the second part of his army across the frozen river and across the snowy plains that led to the gates. Behind him, he knew the regimental colours and the Queen's Colours were marching in step with the regimental band players.

As they drew nearer to the gates, though, he started to hear a rising chant from the column behind him.

_Bri-tan-nia, Bri-tan-nia, Bri-tan-nia_

Harry gave a smile as the chant began to outdo the drums and fifes in volume, leading the fifes to stop playing altogether and the drums to start beating _in tempo_ with the chant, each beat signaling one step forward.

Harry imagined that the fearless advance of the redcoat column would have made a fearsome sight to an external viewer, which gave him a modicum of satisfaction, since the external viewers here were the enemy.

Once within twenty meters of the gates, Harry rose his sword and cried out, "Column…HALT!"

Immediately, the drums and the redcoats behind them all stopped marching. Harry then called out, "By lines of twos on me! Form…UP!"

Just as quickly as they'd stopped, the redcoats marched up to where he stood and formed up two lines along his sides. Within the gates, he saw that the Death Eaters were attempting to regroup.

"Colour Guard! Form up behind the second line!" he ordered, and vaguely heard the thuds of the soldiers' boots as they marched up to their position behind the firing lines.

Harry now saw that the Death Eaters had taken notice of them and, seemingly preferring to confront the foes outside the castle, where the redcoats had no cover, they began surging towards him and his men. Harry gave a grim smile; he'd been hoping they would.

"Seventy-eighth!" he yelled, "_MAKE READY!_"

Along the lines, he vaguely heard the order being repeated by various sergeants. The Death Eaters were quickly making their way to the gates' arch, seemingly ignoring the readying redcoats, who were making sure their weapons were loaded before shouldering them again.

"_PRESENT!_" he called out next, lifting his sword, yet again hearing the order being repeated along the lines. Pausing now, he saw the Death Eaters reaching the gates' arch. "Aim right at the gates, men! You'll hit them no matter what!" he called out.

Harry watched as the enemy reached the arch, entered it, and dashed forward.

'_Come on…closer…_' he thought, "Just a bit closer…" he mumbled aloud.

The closest Death Eater had now reached the gate opening. One more step and the man would be out in the open. Harry swung down his sword.

"_FIRE!_"

Douglas watched from his vantage point at the window as the two lines of redcoats opened fire. Like rolling thunder, the muskets fired nearly in complete concert, the variations of timing making for a rather spectacular thunder-like sound. Douglas turned to the sergeant, who'd just finished making sure everyone was ready for the sally. The Scotsman was looking over at Douglas with an inquiring expression.

"The colonel just let the Death Eaters have it," reported Douglas, to the sergeant's nod.

The sergeant then turned to the assembled men in the gatehouse. "Men, time to go aid the colonel!" he ordered as he went for the entrance, where they'd posted sentries to keep back the Death Eaters. As expected, the men all gave cheers as they followed him out.

As the sergeant and the rest of the company stood near the stairway, getting ready to charge, the sentries kept pouring fire into the enemy below. Douglas drew a long breathe as he waited for the order. It was easy to keep fighting once you'd begun, but starting over was just as hard as starting the first time.

The sergeant also drew a long, steadying breathe before he yelled, "CHARGE!" leading the way as he dashed down the stairs, Douglas and the men right behind him, the regimental bagpipes blaring the funeral song they'd played earlier.

With a yell, Douglas followed the sergeant around the bend in the stairway, revealing himself to the enemy as he charged forward. One Death Eater seemed to notice him and was about to shout a warning when Douglas fired his musket at the man, blowing his head apart.

That did seem to catch the other Death Eater's attention, but in a more horrified way. The shock of the Death Eater's death was time enough for several of the oncoming redcoats to mark their targets and fire, causing a few more Death Eaters to fall.

But now the element of surprise was gone. Reacting quickly, the Death Eaters began to pour spellfire onto the flanking redcoats. Unfortunately, the redcoats only had a single Shielder left—the one that had saved Douglas and his men previously—and so many of the killing curses hit home. Douglas watched from the corner of his eye as a man beside him fell to the ground after having been on the receiving end of said curse. And still the redcoats charged.

Another man behind him fell screaming as a slashing hex cut off his right arm. And still the redcoats charged.

As Douglas closed the gap quickly between him and the crowd of Death Eaters, he heard yet another thud as another man fell victim to a killing curse And still they charged on.

Fifteen feet.

Ten feet.

Five feet.

Douglas gave a yell as he rammed his bayonet into a Death Eater's midsection. He quickly disengaged it as he slammed the butt of his musket into another's mask, making the front of the Death Eater's face explode with ceramic and blood as the man's nose was broken into a million pieces.

Douglas punched the man in the face for good measure as the Death Eater went down. He then twisted himself in order to avoid a curse thrown at him by the man behind his latest victim. He quickly pulled out his knife and threw it right at the Death Eater's chest, eliciting female screams as it embedded itself into the apparent woman's heart.

Douglas was mildly surprised by the sex of his latest victim, but didn't let it affect him as he drove his bayonet into yet another Death Eater.

After all, he couldn't really worry about propriety when a hundred people around him wanted him dead, could he?

"_FIRE!_"

Harry watched with satisfaction as the Death Eaters fell by the dozens as the narrow arch didn't allow them much movement. As soon as the first row of Death Eaters had been killed, several of the bullets had flow right above them as they fell and hit the second row.

"BAYONET CHARGE!" ordered Harry, and he heard the order be repeated several times again. As one, the men swung forward their muskets all the while giving a fierce war-cry.

"_CHARGE!_" he yelled as he sprinted forward, the men right behind him.

Harry ran as fast as he could towards the enemy, his sword held low until he came within a foot of slashing distance, at which point he raised it high and then swung down fiercely with a roar. His victim went down screaming as he slashed the Death Eater across the chest deeply. Kicking the man back, Harry dove at the next man as the redcoats stabbed the enemy with their bayonets.

Harry slashed at one man before twisting around and, bringing up his pistol, firing right at another man's face, the resulting exploding head drenching his face in blood. Similarly, the rest of the 78th was performing just as fiercely as he was, and slowly, the Death Eaters' resolve began to waver, and then finally broke.

Many yelled in terror as they ran back towards the central stronghold, where they hoped to seek refuge, but were dismayed when they found the 96th Rifles and the other company of the 78th guarding its doors, having broken through the Death Eaters' flanks and linking up.

Others tried to throw down their wands and beg for mercy, only to be stabbed or shot to death.

Their orders were set in stone. No prisoners.

The screams wouldn't die out for another half hour.


	8. Betrayal

Finally, a cheer went through the battle-weary redcoats and green-coated riflemen as the Union Jack was waved atop the central stronghold's walls.

Harry was sitting on a step of the stairway the 96th had used to descend from their wall as he tried to regain his breathe, wiping some of the blood on his face with his sleeve. He realized that many other officers would look down upon him for having taking part personally in the storming, but he didn't care much for their opinion. He only cared what his parents, his wife, his friends, and his Queen thought; pompous fools be damned.

He looked up to see Major Sharpe walking towards him, just as blood-stained and weary as he was. Harry weakly waved for him to take a seat beside him, which Sharpe did.

"How many?" asked Harry immediately, wasting no time. He didn't elaborate either on what he was asking; Sharpe knew exactly what he wanted to know.

"30 men," answered Sharpe, "Mostly killed in the scaling. A few died when the second company from the Seventy-Eighth stormed down the stairway to flank the Death Eaters"

Harry looked up at that. "Is that what they did?" he mused, "No wonder the enemy broke so quickly, then. I figured they wouldn't break for a good ten minutes more when they did,"

Sharpe nodded as he took out a cigarette and his wand, lighting it up with the tip of it. Sharpe was one of the few wizard officers in Harry's army. Besides him, there were only about 6 others, including the 96th Rifles and the artillery and naval squadrons.

Sharpe took a long breathe from the cigarette before blowing out the smoke. Harry scrunched up his face in distaste.

"Things will kill you, you know," he bluntly stated, only to then laugh at the irony of the statement. Sharpe joined him in laughing.

"These are custom made, sir," he explained after he'd stopped laughing; he was still chuckling, though. "Apparently, this brand pretty much keeps the so-called calming effect the real ones have, while taking out the lethal stuff. Pretty handy during and after a battle. Good for after a shag, too," he added impudently with a grin, making Harry laugh.

"My wife would kill me if she saw me with one," commented Harry. Sharpe rose his eyebrows at that.

"You're married, sir?" asked a surprised Sharpe. And with good reason, too. Harry didn't strut around saying he was married. The men just thought he was a puritan, since he displayed no apparent carnal desires.

Harry nodded. He didn't mind the men knowing. After all, he'd bloody bled with them, all pun intended. He knew they'd never use it against him, either. The bonds of camaderie wouldn't allow them, on pain of losing their honor and the respect of their brothers-in-arms.

"Married for a year now," he told Sharpe. "We met earlier than that, of course, but we didn't develop a relationship until later on. Finally, when I became 16, Her Majesty gave us special permission to marry, since she was still 15."

Sharpe still had an intrigued expression on his face. "How did you manage not seeing each other for so long and still managing such a good relationship?" he asked, "Before marriage, I mean," he added hastily.

Harry shrugged. "We did like most do. Owl post. Occasionally, whenever the family was in the country, we'd see each other in secret," he explained before looking at Sharpe, "Her folks don't know she's married, you see."

Sharpe's eyes widened even more. "That also why you needed the Queen's blessing?"

Harry nodded. "She was under age and didn't have parental consent. So, the Queen gave her a private interview, was satisfied, and gave us her blessing."

Sharpe whistled under his breathe, impressed. "How have you managed to keep it a secret from her folks?" he asked, genuinely curious. He absently noted the men dragging off another corpse into the flaming bonfire in the center of the courtyard; they were burning every enemy corpse.

"A mutual friend of ours is posing as her boyfriend," explained Harry, "So besides keeping it a secret, she's also being guarded by a friend."

Sharpe nodded, impressed with the planning of his colonel. Turning back to business, however, he asked, "Do you really think we'll have to fight at Hogwarts?"

Harry shrugged. "Depends. I could be wrong and Dumbledore will back off," he admitted, "Or perhaps the Ministry does something and Dumbledore doesn't lend aid; or perhaps even Dumbledore tries something but the Ministry doesn't aid," he added before shrugging again. "I can't predict the future, and anything is possible at this point."

Sharpe merely nodded silently.

Harry let out a sigh as he gazed at the courtyard, where the flaming pile of bodies was burning healthily. He sighed again as he grabbed his sheathed sword and stood up, dusting himself as he did.

"Order the charges placed. Once everyone is out, blow this fortress to kingdom come," he ordered as he stood up, Sharpe nodding once from where he sat.

Taking one more glance at the bonfire, Harry hooked his saber's scabbard back onto his belt and made his way out of the fortress. As he entered the archway, he could hear Sharpe shouting behind him for the charges to be set.

Another day, another win, another enemy crushed.

Yes, life was as usual for Harry Potter, Lieutenant-Colonel in the Queen's Army.

_Three Days Later (Day 9)_

Harry gave a pleased smile as he watched the courier leave his tent, laden with dispatches for the soldiers' families and also his personal report on the battle, as well as battlefield awards recommendations for the Queen. He then frowned as he remembered the possible scenario he would be finding upon returning to Hogwarts. So deeply immersed was he in his thoughts that he didn't even register the entrance of Majors Sharpe and Wolfe. He only noticed them when one of them, Sharpe, politely cleared his throat.

"What can I do for you gentlemen?" asked Harry once he'd registered their presence.

Wolfe and Sharpe exchanged a glance before returning their attention to Harry. "We're here to receive orders, sir" Wolfe reminded him.

Harry looked shocked for a moment, then sheepish as he remembered that today was supposed to be the day they moved out. The fortress had been leveled the previous day, so nothing held them here anymore.

Quickly gathering his wits about him, Harry nodded as he thought for a moment. "We don't know what situation we'll be facing when we reach Hogwarts," he began slowly, "Thus a quick march to Hogwarts is inadvisable"

Wolfe and Sharpe nodded slowly. It made sense to them to approach Hogwarts as they would an enemy fortress, rather than a welcoming home.

Finally making up his mind, Harry continued, "I want a squad from the ninety-sixth to move ahead of the army. Have them scout out the Hogwarts grounds and nearby village. Make them go ahead today. We'll move out in three days," he told the two Majors.

Just as both officers were about to salute to leave, Harry suddenly added, "Oh, and send a letter by owl to my father," he told the two men, "I want the Irish Regiment and the Welsh Regiment ready to march immediately, should we need them."

Wolfe's eyes widened slightly at that, while Sharpe gave a low whistle; something only the two senior Majors could get away with in front of their commanding officer.

"You really expect us to need them?" asked Sharpe, a bit skeptic. After all, 6,000 troops was quite the large amount of soldiers.

Wolfe on the other hand, seemed giddy at the thought. He really liked the way the Irish and Welsh fought. It was similar to how his own Scots did; wild and fierce.

Harry merely shrugged. "Like I said, I don't know what we're facing. Once our riflemen scout out the area, we'll know whether or not we'll need them."

Sharpe remained skeptical. "Sir, with all due respect, does the Ministry _and_ Dumbledore _together_ have even half our numbers?"

Harry gave Sharpe a chiding look. "You of all people should know better than to put your full confidence in numbers alone, Sharpe," he remarked reprovingly.

Sharpe grimaced at that. He'd originally been one of the skeptics against Harry's promotion to Lieutenant-Colonel.

Needless to say, having his army annihilated with a 98 casualty rate by Harry's smaller army, who'd only suffered a 10 casualty rate, in a war game had done wonders to change his mind.

"Still, sir," pressed Sharpe, "your father, the Lord Marquess, would become most worried if you required all three elite regiments,"

Harry nodded, "True," he admitted slowly, "But in these growingly troubled times, perhaps that is best."

Wolfe now looked at the younger man curiously. "You think this might escalate?"

Harry shrugged. "Like I said, I don't know," he admitted, "But I don't want the old man catching us off guard."

Wolfe nodded; it made sense to him. Sharpe, on the other hand, remained slightly skeptical, but didn't voice it this time. Rather, he asked, "Shall I get the advance party moving, sir?"

Harry nodded. "Better if they go now. Cover more ground that way," he remarked. Sharpe nodded, gave a stiff salute, then left the tent, Wolfe following shortly.

Harry was just getting comfortable in his chair when a soft but clear hoot caught his attention. He smiled as his familiar, Hedwig, flew into the tent through a window flap. Harry frowned just as quickly, however, as he remembered that Hedwig was in Ginny's care, and that she wasn't to use her to contact him unless an emergency had come up. He quickly got up and went over to his familiar's perch, where she was gazing at him with her piercing brown eyes.

"Message from Ginny, eh girl?" he asked softly as he gave her a pet, making her hoot in approval. She lifted her leg, allowing him to detach the parchment from her talons. He quickly went over to the table and retrieved some sausage scraps and fed them to her as he unrolled the parchment with his other hand and began to read.

"_Beloved Husband_," Harry smiled. No matter how many times he'd read that, it never ceased to give him a warm feeling,

"_Word of your victory up north has reached Hogwarts. How, our spies have yet to discover, as you've sent no messenger that I am aware of, and I am aware of everything in this castle._"

Harry couldn't really argue with that logic. Being the Hogwarts Spymaster of the Crown, Ginny really _did_ know everything that went on in that place. The piece about his victory troubled him, though. Who had told them? He'd sent no messenger. No Death Eater had made it out alive; his wards had made sure of that. Putting that at the back of his thoughts, he continued to read,

"_Beloved, whatever it is that you've done, it seems to have succeeded in stalling the old man's schemes. Since he's heard of the victory, and of the manner in which it was attained, he has been reluctant to molest the troops, who have begun to become restless due to the headmaster's foolishness._

_However, I am saddened to say that this caution does not extend to the Minister, who refuses to believe his Aurors can be outmatched by your troops._

_My love, the Ministry has acted, as you feared. They have launched a full-scale attack that overwhelmed Captains Lyle and McAllen. The men put up a good fight, love, and conducted themselves honorably; shooting to wound severely, yet not kill. I daresay that many of the Aurors involved will have to be retired after the attack._

_The men, however, have been imprisoned, all of them (including the wounded, amongst whom are Lyle and McAllen) in the Hogwarts dungeons._

_I'm sorry, love. I know you warned us about this and we failed to prevent it. Please forgive us._

_You will be glad to know, however, that we now have proof that in order to launch the surprise attack, Fudge enlisted Malfoy junior and Snape to provide distractions and portkeys, which they acquired from Dumbledore under false pretenses. Dumbledore, in his extreme foolishness, has decided to forgive them._

_Your adoring and faithful wife,_

_Ginny_"

By the time he'd finished reading the parchment, it was crumpling up where hands met parchment. He realized that he'd seen this coming, and that he shouldn't be so mad about it, but he couldn't help it. He was glad that Dumbledore had decided to back off, but Fudge's own idiocy was going to potentially cost him men. As it was, he was grateful that he'd left no cannons at the school. In the hands of idiots like Fudge, who knows what could happen.

Harry strode over to the entrance flap of his tent and, poking his head, out, ignoring the guards' salute, he roared, "WOLFE! SHARPE! MY TENT! _NOW!_" before storming back inside. Outside, the guards looked nervously at one another. The lieutenant-colonel didn't usually get mad, but when he did, it scared even the battle-hardened veterans.

Within minutes, the message had been relayed to both Majors, who reached Harry's tent at a dead run, panting when they got at the entrance. Quickly recovering their breathe, they squared their shoulders as they walked into the tent. Onlookers would have remarked that they looked like men on death row.

Inside, Harry was pacing angrily and he glared at both majors as they walked in. As one, they both flinched, which made Harry calm down slightly. He stopped pacing and then took a deep breathe before looking apologetically at both men.

"Sorry, men," he apologized, "I just received word from Hogwarts" he explained, motioning at the letter on the table, which Sharpe snatched up before Wolfe could.

Sharpe's eyes widened as he reached the end, and he proceeded to re-read it again, faster. By the end, he was scowling as he pushed the letter into Wolfe's hands, who gave a similar reaction before putting the letter back on the table.

"Bloody Ministry!" muttered Sharpe. Wolfe agreed with a short burst of Gaelic swearing. Harry added a few choice Welsh words that he was sure his mother would have disapproved of.

"What're we going to do now, then, sir?" asked Sharpe. Wolfe was still scowling fiercely, giving himself a passing resemblance to his namesake.

Harry clasped his hands behind his back as he looked at his two senior majors. "Call for a general meeting of all regiments in the camp. I'll be talking to the troops about our situation," he ordered, "Following that, I want a message delivered to my father on our current situation. Ask him to send the Irish and Welsh regiments seven miles along the railroad track leading into Hogsmeade. That will be our meeting point."

Wolfe and Sharpe gave a sharp salute before clicking their heels and leaving the tent. Back inside, Harry began thinking on the wording of his speech.

_An hour later_

Harry looked at his troops around him from atop his white horse, a proud look on his face. His men seemed eager to hear him, and didn't let the loss of a few of their brothers to undermine their dutifulness. All of them were standing upright at attention, their muskets or rifles held against their shoulders. In front of them were their officers, amongst them Majors Wolfe and Sharpe, who were both in full battle uniform, shako or tricorne included.

He gazed at the men that surrounded him in a square, all soldiers of the Empire; all guardians of the Crown. He briefly recognized one of the men at the front of the 2nd Company of the 78th Highlanders. Douglas McIntyre, he remembered. He smiled at seeing the new sergeant stripes on the man's uniform.

"How does it feel to be promoted, sergeant McIntyre?" he asked the man as he made a pass with his horse. Douglas stiffened at attention and saluted, before stammering out his response.

"J-Just fine, colonel, sir!" he replied loudly. Harry smiled kindly before asking another question.

"You led the diversionary assault that allowed your company to secure the gatehouse, correct?" he asked, although he already knew the answer. He also made sure to ask it loudly, so all could hear.

"Yes, s-sir!" replied Douglas, just as loudly. Harry nodded approvingly.

"You've done well, sergeant," he commended, before turning to the rest of the crowd, "You've all done well, men," he called out.

He reigned in his horse as he moved back towards the center of the square. "But there are those who would look down upon you, as one would an insect!" he continued, noticing the scowls on the men's face at his comment; they knew it was true, "People such as the Ministry, who view us as outlaws, as brigands carrying out a personal brand of justice! A justice outside the law!" he stated.

"These men, I pity them," he then stated, "For they will never understand the bonds that bind together brothers-in-arms! They will never understand the honor that keeps us together! They will never understand the true friendship and camaderie that only evolves through common suffering!" he orated,

"Men, today we've received word that the Ministry has acted against us, carrying out a treason most foul against the Crown, and against _you_!" he called out, causing angry shouts of condemnation against the Ministry from the soldiers.

"Men, the Ministry has imprisoned five hundred of our brothers!" he announced, causing even more angry yells to erupt, "In a move most foul and dishonorable, the Ministry attacked our brothers when their defenses were down!" The angry yells began to intensify as some men even began shaking their fists at the general direction of Hogwarts.

"But our brothers fought well!" he continued, causing the yells to simmer, "Our brothers wounded critically a large number of the Ministry's dogs! Most will never again lift a wand! Such is the price of their treachery!" he told them, causing cheers to erupt.

Harry now drew his sword and held it above his head. "But this I swear, in the name of mine own honor and my commission to the Crown, I will free our brothers personally if I have to! I will exact the Crown's vengeance on the Ministry and bring its traitor of a leader to his knees!" he yelled, causing the cheers to intensify. "_Who's with me?!"_ he roared.

The answering cheers were deafening, and some of the officers claimed to keep hearing bells for the next hour.

"Our brothers, the Welsh and Irish regiments, are now on their way to meet up with us!" continued Harry, making the crowd of soldiers cheer, though less loudly than before. "We will meet up with them on the fields near Hogsmeade, and from there, we will march to Hogwarts, and free our brothers in captivity!" he announced. This time, the soldiers did not cheer, but instead started to chant "_Potter! Potter! Potter!_" over and over as Harry gave a final look at the men and then guided his horse away from the square.

The next morning, with Harry at the head of the column of angry and vengeful soldiers, the Royal Northern Army began its march towards Hogsmeade.


	9. Whispers of War

_AN: Apparently, while making a change in Chapter 10, I managed to screw up and replaced 9 instead. Apologies to my readers.  
_

* * *

_Hogwarts (Day 11)_

Dumbledore was worried.

Why was he worried? He was worried because reports were coming in of a very pissed off army marching down from northern Scotland, intent on attacking Hogwarts. Now, usually, Dumbledore wouldn't be worried of an attack on the school, since the wards and he and his staff could put up a good fight.

But against that army…No…against _him_, Dumbledore wasn't so sure.

_Harry Potter_

The boy intrigued Dumbledore; for that is how Dumbledore saw him: a boy. Not even of legal age in the Wizarding world of England. But still, this boy inspired probably just as much respect and fear as Dumbledore himself did. When Harry Potter spoke, men and women obeyed. When Harry Potter fought, men and women quailed or took heart from seeing him in action.

It worried Dumbledore, then, that such a boy was now heading an army—an army his wards didn't seem to repel—bent on attacking his school.

Of course, Dumbledore had warned the Minister against taking any action against the Hogwarts garrison once news arrived of the Potter boy's victory up north. The messenger, a member of his Order specializing in tracking and stealth, had spoken in admiring tones as he described the siege and the subsequent charge up the walls Keeping himself hidden, he was also witness to Harry's charge through the gates, terrifying him as he saw the younger man cut down Death Eaters with impunity.

Dumbledore had been astounded at the tale. The mere mention of the Leviathan cannons made him shiver. Such destructive power would now be aimed at his school, because of that fool of a Minister.

Worse, word had arrived from his London contacts that orders had been sent from Wales to bring supplies to a military base in northern Wales, where rumor was the Welsh and Irish regiments of Harry's army were quartered.

'_Six thousand men…'_ Dumbledore still couldn't believe it, '_We cannot hope to stop him as it is, but with six thousand more men, it will be even more a foregone conclusion!'_

Dumbledore had argued that view to the Minister, but the stupid man had remained firm in his belief that his elite Aurors could beat back any attempt at seizing the school, regardless of the fact that much of his Auror force was now permanently incapacitated by the wounds inflicted on them by the now-imprisoned garrison.

In fact, to Dumbledore's amazement, the Minister looked at the Pyrrhic victory as proof of the superiority of wizards over firearms.

The man hadn't even fought a quarter of the main army!

Thus, Dumbledore was worried.

As far as he could tell, he had two choices.

Either stand with the Ministry and defy the oncoming army, probably sealing the destruction of the school in the process, or…

Dumbledore grimaced. He admitted to being manipulative, but even then he hated turning on an ally, no matter how fragile and tenuous that alliance might be.

For the other option at Dumbledore's feet was simple.

Dumbledore would turn over the Ministry forces to Harry Potter.

Down in the dungeons, on the other hand, the operatives of the Crown were busy at work making the imprisoned soldiers comfortable.

"_Coire_" mumbled Ginny as she pointed her wand at one soldier's gash, which had reopened due to the man's stubborn refusal to stay put.

Once the cut mended itself, Ginny nodded in approval before rounding on the healed soldier with a stern look. The man had the decency to look sheepish.

"Look, I understand you hate staying put," she started calmly, though glaring nonetheless, "but if you reopen this wound one more time, _so help me_ I will hex you"

The man nodded meekly before making himself comfortable against the stack of hay he'd claimed as a bed. Ginny nodded before turning to the next patient; a man who was suffering from fever from his wounds and the dank dungeons.

She saw out of the corner of her eye as Susan, Hannah, and Neville all worked on other prisoners. Outside the cell, Blaise was keeping watch for the usual patrol.

She deftly took care of the man's fever before moving on to the next patient, and the next, until she was stopped by Blaise's hushed yell of "They're coming!"

Immediately, Ginny and the rest cast invisibility spells on themselves and ran out of the cell, hoping to miss the guards. It was fortunate that the guards didn't deem the prisoners important enough to warrant close checks. All they cared about was that they were alive; thus, they unknowingly allowed the Crown agents to heal the wounded and keep them fed.

Instead of running all the way back to her dorms, however, Ginny lagged behind, hoping to hear something important from the guards. She wasn't disappointed.

"—Minister's said that the Potter brat's army should be here soon," one said; a male by the guard's deep voice.

"Oh? Did he mention _how_ soon?" asked the other guard; a female, this one.

"Nope. Did send out scouts, though, to Hogsmeade. Haven't returned yet."

"Maybe they're just getting there?"

"They left seven hours ago."

"…that close?"

"Aye, seems like it. By tomorrow, we should be seeing them from the outer walls"

Ginny spared not a second longer at that. She turned and ran down the hallways and up the stairs to the Gryffindor dorms. Once near the corner that led to the portrait, she slowed down and caught her breath, disabling the invisibility spell as she did; after all, if the portrait of the Fat Lady saw her suspiciously out of breath and flushed, while her boyfriend was already inside, then who know what might happen?

Once she'd regained her composure, Ginny stepped out from behind the corner nonchalantly, telling the portrait the password as she came into view. The portrait looked at her curiously before shrugging and swinging open. Ginny hid a smirk as she went through the opening and into the common room. There, she saw Neville sitting with her brother and Hermione, chatting away amiably.

"Ginny! You're here!" said Hermione as she noticed the petite redhead walk into the common room. Ron turned his attention from Neville to Ginny with narrowed eyes.

"Where were you?" he asked. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Where I was, _Ronald_, is none of your business. But if you must know, I was taking a walk," she replied crisply. Neville chuckled at that, though still sending a curious glance at her.

Ron reddened slightly at her reply, but wisely stayed quiet. Ginny shrugged at Hermione and then walked over towards the stairs that led up to the female dorms.

"Nice evening out tonight," she told the group, catching Neville's attention immediately, but barely gaining any attention from the other two, "Looks like tomorrow's going to be a fine day"

With that, she walked up the stairs towards her dorm room, not noticing, but knowing nonetheless, that Neville's eyes had widened slightly. It had been a code formed before Harry had left. Her casual remark about the weather had tipped Neville off about the presence of the Royal Army. Hermione and Ron, however, were completely in the dark.

Just like she planned.

* * *

_The Next Day…(Day 12)_

"Good to see you, sir" said the young Irish officer as he shook Harry's hand.

Harry grinned at the older man as he shook the man's hand. "Good to see you too, Harper" he told the Irishman.

Harry looked around at the troops that were still in rank formation. Row upon row of Irish soldiers, flanked by Welshmen, lay before him. Behind them were their baggage trains and supporting artillery companies. What had surprised him somewhat, however, was the presence of a company of 200 horsemen, led a young officer that Harry recognized was part of his father's officer corps.

Upon inquiry, he was told that the horsemen were to provide shock value on the enemy.

"Any idea when we'll be getting our commanding officers back, sir?" asked Harper, the senior major of the Royal Irish. Harry shrugged.

"Can't say for sure, Harper," remarked Harry, "I might need them where they are more at the moment. After all, they _are_ providing some rather good intelligence on the situation."

The Irishman nodded reluctantly at that, seeing the logic behind the argument, yet not liking it. Harry then turned to the lined up troops.

"Men, the time has come!" he called out, to the cheers of the soldiers; If anything, Harry knew how to rally his men, "Our brothers in Hogwarts await our coming! Our enemies know we are here! Shall we make either wait?"

Loud yells of "NO!" could be heard everywhere. Harry grinned.

"Shall we show the traitorous insects the wrath of the British Empire?"

"_YES!_"

"Shall we raise the Union Jack on top of the highest spire in that far off-castle?"

"_YES!_"

"Then remember who you fight for today! Remember that the eyes of the Empire are watching you! Act like Englishmen, and fight bravely! Show mercy to the enemy wounded; civilians are not to feel our wrath! Save that for the Ministry pigs!" he called out. Laughter rippled through the ranks

"I will not lie to you, men, this fight is different from the last one. The enemy then underestimated us and paid for it," he stated, his face far more serious, "Some of us will die. Our enemy knows our capabilities and will probably try to negate them. But remember, cold British steel and bravery will overcome Ministry magic _any day!_"

Cheers rang out at those words.

"Now then, my brothers! Onwards! Onwards to Hogwarts! Our brothers await!" he yelled amidst cheers, "Onwards! Let Hogwarts fall! God save the Queen! God save the Empire!"

As the troops lurched forward, cries of "God save the Queen!" and "God save the Empire!" rang out.

Britain was marching to war.

* * *

_Hogwarts, four hours later…_

The first thing that warned the Ministry's Aurors of the oncoming army was the sound.

Like rumbling thunder, the marching noise of the Royal troops slowly crept forward, slowly reaching the grounds of Hogsmeade. It was loud, and it shook the very earth beneath the defenders, worrying and frightening them.

On the walls, Auror Shacklebolt, also the part-time Defense teacher of Hogwarts, looked at the horizon with worried eyes. He was trained to fight wand-wielding criminals who were not willing to die for their crimes; cowards who would surrender once their more courageous members fell. This was different, however. These men that now came to kill him and his fellow Aurors seemed to have no fear.

And it frightened him.

The red coated soldiers marched on with such discipline as Shacklebolt had never seen before; even Aurors had no such discipline. He'd heard the rumors about the army's siege up north, too. The Death Eaters, scum though they might be, had fired spell after spell at the army, only to have the army calmly march right up to position, regardless of their losses, and pour fire and steel into the defenders. As far as he'd heard, not a single Death Eater was left alive.

That alone made him shiver.

This wasn't what he was trained for. He was a policeman, not a soldier. Sure, he was a volunteer in the Order, but that was, at its very best, a vigilante group, not an army. The wizarding world _had_ no army. Well, the wizarding world as Fudge and his cohorts saw it. As far as Shacklebolt was concerned, those men coming towards him were members of the wizarding world too; they were simply here to suppress a rebellion.

For probably the twentieth time in that hour, Shacklebolt sighed. Beside him, Tonks cast a worried look at her partner.

"Worried?" she asked in a mocking tone, in a half-hearted attempt to lighten things up.

"I just don't like being on the wrong side," replied Shacklebolt.

On his other side, Auror Savage tore his eyes from the village of Hogsmeade in the horizon towards his superior.

"You think we're in the wrong, sir?" he asked. His own partner, Dawlish (who was currently getting orders from Fudge), kept claiming that they were about to put down the rebels.

Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow at the inquiry. "Aren't we, Savage?" he retorted, "Those men out there have a mandate from the _legitimate_ sovereign of the English territories, and we've just incarcerated 500 of their troops. If we'd done the same with our own Aurors, we'd have been jailed in Azkaban," he informed the younger man with a curt tone. He didn't mind Savage, but the man's constant exposure to Dawlish made him at best a wishy-washy man of unknown loyalties.

To his credit, though, Savage seemed to nod ponderously. He seemed about to ask another question when a shout went up from one of the wall's towers.

"Army in Hogsmeade!"

Immediately, everyone's eyes swung over to Hogsmeade where, indeed, red coated and green coated men were marching in line down the streets, followed then by blue-coated men that were escorting the large artillery pieces. Upon sight of the drawn Leviathan pieces, many of the Aurors on the walls began pale.

"Merlin, the size of those buggers…" muttered Tonks as she paled.

"They're not what I'm worried about," Shacklebolt told his partner, though he too seemed to look a bit sick.

Tonks managed to tear her eyes away from the artillery pieces to look at her partner in the eye. "Then what does?"

Shacklebolt turned his eyes towards the lake. "Where are their ships?"

No one answered.


	10. The Hogwarts Exile

_AN: Though I'd wished to keep these thrice-bedamned author's notes to a bare minimum, it seems I must explain myself, yet again, on some issues._

_First of all, let me reiterate that I do not **hide** behind my technomancy notes. Do not assume that I've mistakenly or willingly created a massive plot hole (for reasons like not having found a suitable explanation for the phenomenon). **Every single aspect** of this story has been planned out from the beginning. The mechanics of technomancy in **this** universe may or may not greatly differ from the mechanics of the technomancy you've read elsewhere or created on your own. Frankly, I don't care._

_While I can see **why** many of you seem disappointed at the lack of technological innovation being carried out for the Imperial Army, let me remind the skeptics among you that technology takes **time**. Time **and** money, in fact. Both of which, at the time of the discovery of technomancy (1905) was redirected towards the much more serious threat of World War I. If the dates seem unfamiliar to you, read a history book._

_For the skeptics still among you, let me educate you on some of the basics of technomancy. Technomancy is not simply the transposing of bullets and rifles to a magical war. That's simply weapon diversity. Technomancy involves the creating of a **magic-based** projectile fired from a conventional weapon that even a Muggle can use. Why is this important? Well, it has to do with Magical shields. Magical shields can repel solid objects (aka, bullets), but a hyper-condensed spell sent at it at increased velocity will penetrate said shield. Why? Due to the inverse proportion of time-distance and power. What that means is that the longer you keep a spell up, or the farther you fire it, the less magical power will be available at the point of impact._

_However, with technomancy (or, at least, mine), this is practically negated (note the word, practically) by hyper-condensing the spell into a **specially** designed container that has two shells: an outer and inner shell. The outer shell is designed to protect the small, more fragile inner shell, which is incredibly susceptible to breaking if hit hard enough. When placed in a musket (or rifled musket), the outer shell protects the "spell bullet" from the gunpowder (which causes it to dissolve) and musket wadding (which would break it). When the bullet is fired, however, the intense heat causes the outer shell to gradually dissolve and propels the inner shell (the actual "bullet") out of the barrel towards the enemy, where the impact causes the inner shell to break, releasing the hyper-condensed spell to do its damage._

_However, given enough of a distance, even the spell bullet will lose some of its power, as the wind break will cause the inner shell enough gradual damage to pierce it. In such cases, area effect damage (pertaining to the spell's particular effect) will occur. In addition, the shells used in spell bullets **can** be made in mass quantities, but a shell has **not** yet been designed to allocate a bullet in a more modern type of weapon, such as the breech-loading rifle, for example. The shells created for a musket or rifled musket are simply too delicate for the breech-loading rifle._

_There. That's my argument for that, taken directly from my notes. _

_Furthermore, in the aspect of the uniforms and overall lack of armor for the troops, I have the following argument, also taken directly from my notes._

_"Mass quantities of anti-spell armor is nigh impossible to create. Despite the modern use of Kevlar and other such anti-projectile armor, such specialized armor cannot be created for the magical world. The reasons being:_

_1. Lack of mass, affordable material._

_2. What would stop a spell, short of big, huge slabs of metal?_

_3. The Avada Kedavra spell-how to beat it?_

_The first one is obvious in that there isn't enough affordable and nimble material to create new uniforms for the Imperial Army (without asking for a massive budget increase for the War Department). The Imperial Army must be maneuverable and light, so that it can move quickly and nimbly. The Imperial Army's power stems from two things: discipline and speed. If heavier material is employed, the second advantage is reduced, if not taken away completely._

_As far as the second is concerned, only dragonhide has been noted as being spell-blocking. Acquisition of such materials, however, would prove costly, if not environmentally catastrophic. Thus, such materials are ruled out. Technology simply has not advanced to such a stage where other materials that would block spells have been created. Spelling garments is right out. If holding true to the Time-Distance and Power theorem, the garments would inevitably lose power over time. Considering approximate average wizards as doing the spelling, the spells would inevitably fail within two hours at best. _

_The third is obvious. No counter-spell has been found. Possibly due to lack of logic on Wizards' part. Note to self: Theorize on possible counter-spell, Abra Kadabra, which has been theorized to possibly be a Aramaic healing spell. Further Note: Avada Kedavra (let the thing be destroyed) is a bastardization of Abra Kadabra (let the thing be healed)."_

_There, happy?_

_Also, on the issue of Harry and Ginny's wedding, please note that I scoured the internet for the legally allowed ages to marry, and that the reason why Ginny needed the Queen's approval is due to her being one year under the legal age. Thus, an exemption was made. And as for it being illogical for the two to marry if they barely see each other, let me note the word, barely. Barely does not mean never. They've seen each other before they got wedded. They wrote to each other before they were wedded. Heck, Harry even dated before he dated Ginny. However, they did fall in love, and finally wedded. There's supposed to be a rhyme in the British Army for marriage when an officer. I can't remember it, though.  
_

_Furthermore, as far as spell-casting speeds go, let me remind you that comparatively to what the spell bullets do to a person and what Harry and the DA cast in OotP, the spell bullets are massively more damaging. If Harry and the DA had cast a Reductor spell at the speed they did, it would not have caused as much damage as a spell bullet. Thus, for the Death Eaters and any wizard to compensate for the lack of power, they need to cast more slowly in order to gather their energy. Exceptions include Dumbledore and Voldemort, who are powerful enough and familiar enough with their own reserves to gather it quickly. Other wizards, however, are not trained enough to be that familiar with their power reserves, using only the barely necessary to do the job._

_Please note that this includes stunners. While a DA member may stun someone with the Stupefy spell, the victim can be quickly revived with a counter-spell. In order for the same to occur to the much more powerful spell bullets, an equal amount of energy as the one in the bullet must be used to revive the victim, which makes such an action highly draining and inconvenient. _

_And, if any of you are wondering who puts the spells in the bullets, it's a specialized team (a huge one) outside of Britain who essentially are hired to provide the spell and energy needed for each bullet._

* * *

_Hogsmeade, Army Headquarters_

Harry looked over the document he'd just received from the envoy, scowling at the man. The messenger simply stood impassively as he looked at a point somewhere above Harry's head.

"This is straight from Parliament?" asked Harry for the third time, "You're absolutely sure? If I went there and asked, they wouldn't deny it?"

The messenger simply answered with a "Yes, sir"

Harry's scowl deepened at the confirmation. He let his eyes roam over the message once more.

"…In Accordance with the wishes and Will of Parliament and Her Majesty, respectively, the Royal Northern Army is to retreat from its present location in Hogsmeade to its main base at Godric's Hollow.

Furthermore, on the issue of the 500 imprisoned soldiers of Her Majesty's Royal Army, Her Majesty's government has negotiated a truce with the Ministry of Magic, so as to prevent further losses on part of the magical and Imperial communities. Upon receiving this missive, you are hereby ordered by Her Majesty to call up the Ministry garrison at Hogwarts and ask for the return of the prisoners.

No damage is to be done to Hogwarts.

Furthermore, all Royal detachments are to evacuate the Scottish lands, as per the provisos of the Imperial-Ministry Treaty. As per this proviso of the Imperial-Ministry Treaty, Captain Monck has already been notified of the change in his duties, and is now South Bound for London.

Any future engagements in Scotland against the terrorists known as Death Eaters are to be fought only by Ministry forces, until such a time when said forces are found to be unequal to the task.

Respectfully,

G.C. Tarleton

George C. Tarleton

Secretary of State for Defense"

Harry cursed for what seemed to be the tenth time since he'd received the letter.

Retreat.

The word kept jumping out at him, taunting him with its mere presence. Never in his career had he retreated. Not in his initial assignment in India, where he put down a Dark Wizard terrorist group who were trying to instigate greater Indian-Pakistani violence; Not in Diagon Alley, where his troops had decimated the Death Eaters; Not at Serpent Fortress, where his men had scaled the walls and taken the castle with minimal losses. But now…

Retreat.

Harry cursed again before nodding at the messenger, making the man salute and leave. Harry put his head in his hands as the paper fluttered down onto the table. He stayed quiet for a moment before sighing and looking up at his two senior Majors, both of which knew the reason for the Colonel's irritation.

"Well," he said, looking up at his majors, "Send out the white flag."

* * *

_Hogwarts Walls_

"Rider closing in!"

Shacklebolt peered over the stone defenses of the castle walls in order to see the alleged rider. He was understandably shocked when he saw the man carrying a white flag.

"Hold your fire!" he barked, making the Ministry Aurors rescind their aiming. He quickly made his way down the stone steps, Tonks right behind him, as he made his way to the gates.

"Open them" he told the guards, who nodded and, initiating the security spell they'd imposed on the door, opened up the gate doors.

Shacklebolt strode out of the castle grounds and up to the horseman. "Why are you here, rider?" he asked in his usual calm voice, his eyes betraying no emotion.

The messenger, obviously a man of rank by the way he carried himself, gave Shacklebolt a once-over before nodding. "I am Major John Wolfe, of Her Majesty's Royal Northern Army, 79th Highlander Regiment. I'm here on orders from Sir Harry to initiate the provisos established by the British Empire and the Ministry in their newly signed treaty," he declared.

Shacklebolt nodded. "I am Kingsley Shacklebolt, Auror and commander of the Hogwarts Ministry garrison," he said, before waving towards Tonks, "And this is my second-in-command, Auror Nymphadora Tonks. We've not heard of any treaty, major. How do we know this is no ploy?"

Wolfe seemed genuinely surprised at the admission. "Your Ministry hasn't informed you yet?" he asked, incredulous. Seeing the blank looks on the Aurors' faces, he decided to elaborate, "Hostilities between the Royal Northern Army and Ministry forces are to cease, under the provision that the five hundred prisoners you are currently holding are returned, full with their equipment," he told them.

"Well, they're in good shape, that's for sure," Shacklebolt told him. "I've ordered them not to be abused or mistreated."

Wolfe bowed his head respectfully at that, "Our thanks, Auror. In return for our prisoners, the Royal Northern Army has been ordered to retre…retire back to our original base in the British Empire. Any further engagements against the terrorists are your responsibility alone," he told Shacklebolt, who paled slightly at the news, but kept his cool.

"Very well, major. I shall have your men out here within the hour. Anything else?" he asked.

Wolfe stayed quiet for a moment before nodding. "One last thing, too. As per our orders, the following notice is to be announced to the entire Hogwarts population and its decree followed to the letter" he announced, retrieving said notice from his coat and handing it over to Tonks, who accepted it politely.

Shacklebolt nodded before looking at the closed notice curiously. "What is it about?" he asked. Wolfe smiled sadly.

"We're asking every Royalist to abandon Hogwarts, Auror."

* * *

_Headmaster's Office_

"They want _what?!_" demanded McGonagall.

Shacklebolt nodded as he tossed the notice on the Headmaster's desk. "Legal orders, signed by the Imperial Parliament and the Minister, Dumbledore. Every Royalist within the Hogwarts grounds is to leave with the army," he told the aged headmaster.

Dumbledore seemed nonplussed at the announcement, but retained his cool exterior. He steepled his hands in front of him as he leaned on the table with his elbows.

"Regardless, I do not think much of our students, if any will leave, Auror. As far as I know, there are no Royalists within these walls," Dumbledore informed the Auror.

Shacklebolt gave Dumbledore a skeptical glance. "Fine. If there aren't, then it won't be a problem to announce this, now will it?" he said, motioning towards the notice.

Dumbledore looked at it contemptuously. "As I said, there are no Royalists in the confines of this school, other than the prisoners. I see of no reason for which I should distress my students with such an announcement."

McGonagall and some of the other teachers, including Snape, seemed to agree. Shacklebolt gave Dumbledore a pleading glance.

"Headmaster, you _can't_ make me go back on my word. I gave Major Wolfe my word on this. That army out there _will_ enforce the law, even if they have to force their way into the Great Hall and announce it themselves. It's better to hold off any conflict and do it ourselves!" he told Dumbledore.

Snape sneered. "Surely, our _mighty_ Ministry garrison can handle a few muggles and squibs," he stated silkily. Tonks glared at him from behind Shacklebolt.

"Unless you recall, Snape, those few Muggles and squibs killed over nine hundred Death Eaters up north," riposted Tonks. "Perhaps we should give you to them, see what they'll do to the one who gave the Ministry the necessary portkeys to surprise and apprehend the Royalist garrison…" she suggested, giving him an eerie smile. Snape paled at the implications and shut up quickly, though Dumbledore gave her a chastising look.

"It is not humorous to jest with that sort of thing, Nymphadora," reprimanded Dumbledore, "A man's life is no mere commodity, to be bartered away at a whim."

Tonks kept her glare on Snape, "Then the esteemed professor should keep his large nose in his cauldron and keep the affairs of fighting wars to _real_ fighters."

Snape bristled at that, but kept quiet under the headmaster's warning stare.

"Regardless, headmaster, that notice must be announced tonight at the feast," intoned Shacklebolt, smoothly reinserting himself in the conversation. "Else we face rapid escalation of hostilities with the Royal Northern Army."

Dumbledore fingered the notice reluctantly before sighing. "Very well. We shall give the announcement out at tonight's dinner. But as I've told you now several times, Kingsley, there are—"

"—No royalists. I understand, headmaster. But, I'd rather go through a bogus declaration than through a battle with a force over sixteen times our size"

* * *

_That evening, Hogwarts Great Hall_

The delivery of the prisoners went off flawlessly, surprising even the Aurors when the prisoners marched out in good order, apparently at peak health. Not knowing about the internal Royalist help, however, the Aurors passed it off as mutual aid amongst prisoners.

All 500 men were given their weapons that had been taken from them. Proudly, they marched out of the gates of Hogwarts to the cheers of the awaiting regiments standing at attention several hundred meters away from the walls, while many Ministry supporters on the walls booed them away. The entire thing was over in half an hour. However, when Harry saw the Ministry supporters jeering at him and his army, he swore that one day he'd personally plant the Union Jack on the highest tower of Hogwarts.

At dinner time, the students all diligently assembled at the Great Hall, as was common tradition. While everyone knew the troops were leaving, the reaction in the Houses were mixed. Slytherin House seemed to regain its former pride and swagger, whereas Hufflepuff House and Gryffindor House seemed a bit more toned down. Ravenclaw House, on the other hand, was split almost equally amongst those in favor of the troops' dismissal and those against it. Most of the ongoing chatter was about the very same thing, too.

However, all quieted down when Dumbledore stood up, a rare thing in mid-term feasts. The aged wizard smiled at his students genuinely, finally happy that the stress of a military occupation was now gone. He cleared his throat as he began his speech,

"My dear students, I trust you have now learned of the leaving of our guests," he started. He was, however, disappointed when only Slytherin House started clapping. Everyone else, minus a few Ravenclaws, seemed to take the news badly. "Yes, yes, I'm sure we're all very glad to see that our friends are now headed off to perform some other great feat for the unity of the Empire."

Many in Gryffindor House looked at the Headmaster with something akin to incredulity. Did he really expect them to _hate_ the garrison? Most of the students had actually made friends with some of the soldiers. Some had even become interested in enlisting.

"However, I must report that prior to their leaving, the Royal Northern Army was poised to attack Hogwarts over the tragic misunderstanding between the Ministry and the local garrison the Royalist forces had left behind," he announced, to no one's shock; although some Slytherins, true actors as they are, gasped loudly at the news. "Yes, tragic, tragic. However, thanks to the timely intervention of cooler minds, the attack has now been stopped and the prisoners, returned."

Again, no one but a few Slytherins showed any reaction to the news. Most were beginning to wonder about the Headmaster's frame of mind, if he truly believed that they were about to openly declare their support for the Ministry, whom nearly everyone viewed as the aggressors.

"However, as per part of the treaty that the Imperial government and the Ministry signed, the following notice was issued to be announced at this present dinner," he announced, summoning the paper from the table to his hand wandlessly, in an effort to draw some support from this show of power. None gasped, to his disappointment. "I will now presently read its contents, so please pay attention," he stated lightly, hoping his tone of voice would make most students dismiss the announcement as trivial. Unfortunately, no one seemed to do so, and all watched him eagerly.

Dumbledore resigned himself and cleared his throat before starting, "Let it be known herewith, that on this day, the present is a valid and legal order from Her Majesty, the Queen, agreed to and ratified by the Imperial Parliament:

"...That all supporters of the British Crown, hereforth known as Royalists, are to evacuate the premises of the educational institution of Hogwarts School of Magic and Wizardry.

That all Royalists are to remove themselves from said institutions with all their worldly possessions, leaving only behind that which cannot be carried in the citizen's hands or trunk.

That all Royalists are to make an Oath of Allegiance to the Crown before departing the precincts from where this notice is announced in order to certify the identities of those patriots who stand for Empire and Common Prosperity.

That all Royalists are to then proceed to the Royal Northern Army Headquarters in the town of Hogsmeade, from where they will be escorted to Royal territories.

That all Royalists, before leaving Hogwarts, publicly swear to never return to Scotland until such day when Crown control is reinstated.

This, by order of Her Majesty, the Queen, and Parliament.

God save the Queen and the British Empire."

If Dumbledore was shocked previously from the lack of support he'd seen from the student body for the removal of the Royal Northern Army, he was dumbfounded by the number of students who, after staying silent for a while, suddenly seemed to rise from their places. He counted nearly an entire year from Gryffindor alone rising to their feet.

To his side, McGonagall gasped loudly as most of her Gryffindor 5th and 6th years rose up from their seats nearly immediately after the proclamation was done, with some tentative 4th and 7th years rising afterwards.

To Dumbledore's other side, he could hear Snape cursing wildly as some Slytherins also stood up, to the shock of their House.

Flitwick and Sprout also seemed somewhat shocked by the amount of Royalists in their Houses, but were nowhere near as overt about it. In fact, they'd suspected quite a bit of Royalism in their Houses since the arrival of the Royal Northern Army, but the sheer physical proof of it was shocking nonetheless.

Dumbledore's fears were quickly rising, but he quashed them quickly as he retained his calm and jovial exterior and addressed one of the Slytherins standing up; after all, maybe this was some mistake.

"Mr. Zabini, may I ask where you are going?" he asked jovially, though his heart was racing.

Blaise looked up at Dumbledore and merely smiled mockingly. "Why, to England, of course."

Dumbledore's fears hit dead-on.

He was losing his students.

* * *

_AN: Huge apologies to my dear readers. Unfortunately, it so happens that while writing out this chapter, I made a huge mistake in regards to Shacklebolt's name. It is, indeed, Kingsley and not William. I honestly have no clue where I even got that idea from, since I'd already read OotP a long time ago. Regardless, the issue's been corrected. Kudos to the one who gave me the heads up (you know who you are)!_


	11. Loyalty

_AN: I apologize to my readers for the massive rant that I put up...last chapter(?). However, I'd been under immense stress from school at the time and, coupled with the skeptical reviews I kept getting on the issue, I unfortunately snapped. I apologize for that behavior. _

_Now, on the logistics of the Wizarding world. I realize that, by JKR's estimates, the magical population of Great Britain (if not the world) is drastically low in comparison to the Muggle one. This is a view I cannot accept. By sheer genetics alone, such mass underpopulation doesn't seem possible, as only willful abstinence from sexual intercourse with Muggles over the course of over a millennium could have caused such low numbers. That, or extreme genocide on the part of the Muggles, which the history of Gwendolyn the Weird in History of Magic seems to disprove as nothing more than a failed attempt. The only conceivable option, then, to explain the low populations would be the assertion that there is a higher entity known as the "Will of Magic" that is purposely keeping the Magical population low. In which case, we've overcome the boundaries of genetics and gone straight into the deity-worshiping grounds. And, as I'd rather keep God out of this story (other than in declarations of allegiances and keeping with tradition), I'd rather not believe that the Magical world believes in an entity not unlike "the Force" from Star Wars. As such, the population ratios in the Magical world to the Muggle world will be kept at 1:10, which still allows for approximately **577,885,463** Witches, Wizards, and Squibs worldwide (using Census data from January 1, 1997). _

_Also, inasmuch as the Statute of Secrecy is concerned, the Magical world is, for all intents and purposes, still hidden. However, as soon as the Magical world refused to obey the Imperial Council, large amounts of men from the Muggle army were transferred into the Imperial Army (which was nowhere near the needed strength to enforce Imperial rule in 1994) and were thus informed of the Magical world. Beyond the military, the civilian population has no clue of the existence of magic (barring the necessary bureaucrats and politicians). So, whenever there is a victory for the Empire, it is announced as a success against terrorist elements._

_Finally, on the issue of Ginny; I remain firmly convinced of her character value, and often times even find myself finding her "too good" for Harry. While she is not nearly as much in the limelight in this story as I'd like, be forewarned that she **is** in the sequel. Similarly, James, Lily, and our favorite werewolf and dog animagus will be making more appearance in the sequel. This entire story has simply been written as a sort of "set-up" for the series._

_As for Harry's magical power...well...let's just say that while he might not be Armageddon-esque in power, he is nonetheless quite powerful, but more importantly--he's smart about it (which is a huge clue as to how he fights, even if he doesn't use it in this particular story)._

_And no--Harry is most certainly not a pacifist in this story. He might actually make Tarkin (SW reference) sometimes look like a toy poodle.  
_

* * *

_Gryffindor Table_

When Dumbledore had read the notice, Hermione had gasped at the ultimatum being imposed by the Crown, with Ron turning a healthy shade of red. While not exactly the brightest student in the school, he nonetheless understood full well what the notice demanded: a public reneging of Ministry support and support for Dumbledore, which would invariably weaken the already small Auror and Order forces against the Death Eaters.

However, what shocked the two more was when Neville and Ginny looked at each other and nodded, before finally rising to their feet. Ron turned a deeper shade of red at what he saw as treason by his sister and friend.

"What do you two think you're bloody doing?!" he demanded. For once, Hermione didn't correct his language as she too wanted to know.

Ginny calmly looked at her brother. "Simple, Ron. We're going with our own kind," she told him. Beside her, Neville nodded.

Ron purpled at that, shouting, "You bloody well aren't! Once mum hears of this, she'll—"

"What, Ron?" yelled back Ginny, "What will she do? Punish me? Do you even understand what's going on, dear brother?" she asked scathingly. By now, many of those who had not risen had their attention riveted on the siblings.

"Of course I do! You're betraying your family!" raged Ron. Beside him, Hermione was giving her a reproving look as well. Ginny scowled at the two of them.

"Betraying family? Really? Is that why Fred and George are also in the pay of the Crown?" she spat back. The information seemed to rock Ron, as he physically jolted back as if struck by electricity. Ginny smiled, "Oh yes, dear brother, our family, those of us with a vision other than a world ruled by incompetent Ministers or aged crackpot fools that is, have been involved in this conflict far longer than you've known."

Neville nodded at Ginny's words. "She isn't the only one. The Potters recruited at the end of my first year," he told them, to the duo's amazement. He jolted a thumb in Ginny's direction. "Ginny recruited me after the Chamber incident."

Seamus decided to insert himself in the conversation then. "Me and Dean are Royalists, too," he told the seated Gryffindors. "Have been since third when Ginny and Neville recruited us. Got commissions in the army, too."

Several other prominent Gryffindors, including the Creevey brothers, Parvati Patil, and Lavender Brown also voiced their adherence to the Royalist cause, surprising many of the seated Gryffindors, but none more than Ron and Hermione, who looked at all of them with an expression of betrayal.

Not wishing to stand the sight of said look any longer, Ginny merely huffed and spun on her heel, looking over towards Dumbledore with a determined spark in her eyes as she began reciting her pledge,

"I swear, on my life, honor, and magic, that I will forever uphold the sanctity and unity of the British Empire and the legitimate rule over its lands of the British Crown," she announced loudly, causing all other royalists to perform a similar pledge.

She then gave the stunned Headmaster a smug look before nodding to her other co-royalists and led the procession of students out of the Great Hall, in direction of the dormitories.

Once in her room, she quickly packed everything she owned and decided it was time to look the part of Mrs. Potter, heiress to the title of Marchioness of Godric's Hollow. She deftly took off the invisibility charm from her wedding ring on her finger and enjoyed the moment of finally being able to see it in public for the first time since she was wedded to Harry. She then proceeded to undress, taking no note of the one other Gryffindor from her year that was departing, a roommate named Cynthia Collins. She then opened her trunk and took out the navy blue Victorian dress she'd promised herself she'd wear when her allegiances came out to light.

Admiring it for a minute, she swiftly put it on, enlisting the help of Cynthia once the girl had gotten over her shock at the existence of such a fine dress in Ginny Weasley's wardrobe.

Once secured, she pulled out her wand and packed the rest of her stuff with a quick swish of her wand. Out of the two of them, Ginny was the one more prone to using magic, with Harry preferring to use his wand as an extreme measure (then again, most of the spells he _knew_ called for an extreme measure).

Once everything was satisfactorily packed, she placed a levitation charm on her trunk and Cynthia's before leading the two trunks out of her dormitory. At the foot of the steps, she was mildly surprised to find Hermione waiting. Ginny sighed. She guessed a confrontation was indeed inevitable.

"Ginny?" said Hermione, in shock over Ginny's elegant appearance. She was much more used to seeing Ginny in traditional robes, mostly second-hand ones. To see the petite redhead in such an elegant dress was shocking.

"Yes, Hermione?" asked Ginny. She nodded to Cynthia, who pulled out her own wand and led the trunks out of the Common Room. Ginny kept her attention on Hermione, who seemed to be regaining control of her mental faculties.

"Ginny, why are you doing this? Where did you get that dress? Does your mother know about this? What will they say?" fired off Hermione in rapid succession, eliciting a giggle from Ginny.

"I'm doing this because this is what I believe in, Hermione," she informed the bushy-haired genius calmly. "This dress is mine, I received it as a gift from Mrs. Potter. No, mum doesn't know about my allegiances or this dress, and I don't care what anyone says."

Hermione seemed to tear up at that. "Ginny, you can't abandon your family!" she protested.

Ginny calmly contemplated the near-crying older girl. "Let's contemplate that statement, shall we?" she proposed, "You're asserting that by leaving with the Royalists, I am abandoning my family to the mercy of the Death Eaters, since we know the Order and Ministry are in dire straits in that respect. You are suggesting that my showing loyalty to what I believe in is a fundamental treason to the unity of family," she stated, raising a finger with each statement. "But I disagree."

"Because of my actions, yes, my family, namely mum and Ron, will feel that I am committing a treason to the family. Dad will not hold this against me, nor will Bill and Charlie," she reasoned, holding up a halting hand as Hermione seemed to want to protest at that conclusion, "No, hear me out. Charlie and Bill, as well as Dad, are part of the Order of the Phoenix. As such, they should know, above everyone else, what it means to commit to a cause you believe in."

"My brothers and dad believe in preserving the previous status-quo that existed in the years before the Death Eater attacks. I, on the other hand, along with every other royalist in this tower and the rest of the school, believe in a world where the status-quo is not only eliminated, but is replaced by a more effective and secure government. Thus, I am not abandoning my family to the mercy of the Death Eaters. If anything, I'm fighting to eliminate the Death Eaters," she told Hermione.

"Furthermore, if allegiance to our beliefs constitutes as a treason to the unity of family, then Dad, Charlie, Bill, and even mum are traitors, too, because they hold allegiance to the old man. Fred, George, and I, however, believe in a more secure, traditional, and effective government. So, we are not traitors to our family, merely another faction within an already factionalized family."

"So you see, Hermione, we're doing nothing wrong, merely following the path our hearts dictate, which are good government and good laws. We made our beds, and now we intend to sleep in them," she informed the older girl before elegantly striding out of the room, leaving a shocked Hermione behind in the Common Room.

At the bottom of the stairs, she met up with Cynthia who nodded at Ginny with a smile, one that Ginny returned. All Royalists got along well in Hogwarts, even if they weren't previously great friends. All felt linked to each other by the common idea that they were in the right.

At the Great Hall, the scene was chaotic as many members of all Houses tried to detract the Royalists from leaving. From her position at the doors, she could see that half of Ravenclaw was up in arms over the situation, trying to outdo the Royalists in a debate over the legitimacy of their ideology.

Notably, they were losing.

However, when Ginny entered, most Royalists immediately stopped arguing with their counterparts as they turned to face her. The rest of the Hall followed suit, out of confusion, however. Breaking the silence, Neville strode over to her and gave a slightly deferential bow.

"Everything is ready, Ginny. We're ready to make our vows and leave. I daresay the army will be waiting," he informed her. Ginny nodded before scanning the room with her eyes, locking her stare with the Head Table.

"Where is Dumbledore?" she asked. If the old man was not present, then it meant he was in his office, possibly calling up parents and the Order.

Neville seemed to catch on to her thoughts for he gave her a shrug. "We don't know. He left shortly after you had your shouting match. Blaise says that your brother went after him shortly after. You already know about Hermione," he reported.

Ginny nodded before turning to the gathering crowd of Royalists. "Very well. Let us make our vows, my comrades!" she called out, to the cheers of the small group of Royal adherents.

"On our honor, magic, and life, we swear never to return to these lands until such a day when the Crown's standard crosses over the border once more" they all intoned in near-unison.

With that done, Ginny nodded at her group, signaling the departure. The Royalists then silently made their way out of the Great Hall, their trunks floating behind them or rolling. Being the last to leave, with Neville waiting for her at the doors, she waved at the assembled students and said, "Farewell Hogwarts. Until we next meet on the battlefield," before turning and leaving, her head held high, with Neville waiting until she was out of the Great Hall before following her.

* * *

_Hogwarts Courtyard_

Harry smiled as he saw the procession of students leaving the castle. Behind him, he knew that Majors Sharpe and Wolfe were also nodding in approval. Harry felt like grinning, however, when he saw Shacklebolt's expression further ahead. The allegedly unflappable Auror had a gobsmacked expression on his face as he watched the students primly make their way towards the awaiting party of the Royal Northern Army.

For the occasion, Harry had dressed up in his dress uniform, full with all the lacing and epaulets that his rank demanded. Behind him were the Coldstream honor guard and representatives from each regiment: The 78th Highlanders, the 96th Rifles, the 4th Welsh, and the 14th Irish. In addition, 30 of his father's shock Dragoons were also present, in full dress uniform. They wanted to make their farewell a memorable one for Hogwarts.

Harry's smile broadened as he saw the distinct red hair of his wife leading the procession. It died quickly, though, when he saw Dumbledore race out of the castle, a procession of adults right on his tail. Amongst them was his mother-in-law.

Harry turned to his majors. "Ready the men! We might be having altercations after all" he told them, before turning to one of the Coldstreamers. "Get the flare ready to fire on my order. If things deteriorate, I want this entire bloody castle leveled."

Harry now turned his attention to Shacklebolt, who was looking at Dumbledore curiously. "Shacklebolt!" he yelled, catching the elder man's attention. "What is the meaning of this interference?"

Shacklebolt looked at Harry with an expression of confusion, before widening his eyes. He hadn't taken into account the Royalist perception of Dumbledore's presence when he'd seen the aged Headmaster. It now seemed obvious to him that they'd see him as interfering with the proceedings.

In fact, he was dead sure the headmaster intended to do just that.

The bald man made his way quickly over to Dumbledore, who had cut off the procession's calm march with his adults. Behind him, Harry ordered his men to follow him as he led them in the same direction.

"Dumbledore!" Shacklebolt cried as he reached the aged man. "Dumbledore, what in blazes is going on here?" he demanded, his usual calm now gone.

The aged headmaster merely gave the Auror a calm, determined look. "I am stopping this madness, William," he told him. This seemed to shake the Auror even more.

"Are you mad, Dumbledore?" demanded Shacklebolt, "Do you know what these men will do to my men if we refuse to carry out the treaty?"

"You can't speak to the headmaster that way!" protested one of the adults present, a member of the Order.

Shacklebolt gave the man a furious glare. "Shut up!" he roared, all calm now dissipated before turning a look just as furious towards Dumbledore. "Headmaster, they have their Leviathans aimed _right at my men_," he told him. "Please desist in this folly!"

Dumbledore, however, seemed resolute as he faced down the approaching ranks of redcoats, green coats, and dragoons. Behind _them_, the rest of the Aurors stood at attention at the walls, looking slightly scared as they looked out towards the grounds.

"Dumbledore!" yelled out Harry as he arrived within 50 feet of the adults, who had their wands trained on the group of students, all of whom were looking back at their oppressors calmly and with defiance. "What is the meaning of this treachery?" he continued.

"We are not letting you take these students away, Harry," intoned the headmaster gravely, much to the shock of the troops, who were instantly offended at the man's casual use of their commander's name.

Harry seemed just as enraged, but for a different reason. The group of adults had wands trained on _his_ wife. He would not stand for it. "Men, _MAKE READY_!" he yelled, raising his hand.

Instantly, the soldiers behind him, including the two majors and dragoons, all of whom had brought carbines with them, had their firearms against their shoulders.

Dumbledore never faltered. "We will not be intimidated by force, Harry," the headmaster intoned calmly.

Harry glared. "You will stand down, or so help me, I will have my men shoot every last one of you down like the dogs you are."

Seeing that the headmaster wasn't backing down, Harry then yelled, "_PRESENT!_"

Now, every soldier, dragoon, and officer, including Harry himself, had their firearms pointed at the group of adults.

"I'm warning you, Dumbledore," warned Harry, a steely edge to his voice, "I _will_ give the order. You will stand down…_NOW!_"

Dumbledore kept his cool, though the people around him began getting nervous. "I will not allow my students to be subjected to such a tyrannical order!" he rebutted, "They are my stud—"

"_THEY ARE MY COMRADES!_" roared Harry, his drawn arm shaking in fury now, before pointing his pistol at Mr. Weasley, who had his wand trained on his daughter, a sad expression on his face. "_AND THAT IS MY WIFE!_"

Shocked silence descended on the proceedings, though the men behind Harry seemed calm about the news; in fact, most of them had already deduced who the colonel's wife was, seeing as some of them had acted as the girl's escort during the nights of their initial stay.

Dumbledore, however, seemed outright shocked. Of all the things that had crossed his mind when trying to figure out the Potter boy's aversion to Gryffindor Tower, this was certainly not one of them.

'_His wife?_ _Merlin, that's what I've had under my power all this time?'_ thought Dumbledore as he looked at the youngest Weasley, who seemed to have a proud look on her face. '_No, she cannot be let go, then. She must stay here, to restrain the boy'_

He returned his attention back to Harry, his calm demeanor back. "Regardless, they are students nonetheless, and under my supervision. They cannot go."

Harry's face reddened considerably as he trained his firearm at Dumbledore. "_MEN!_ _FI—_" he began yelling, but was stopped when a familiar female voice cried out,

"Wait!"

Harry visibly stumbled over himself, but none of the men fired, thankfully. Most of them were looking at each other in confusion. They couldn't fire unless Harry finished the order, and he hadn't. They all kept their weapons trained on the group, however.

Harry, on the other hand, looked shocked as Ginny pushed her way through the group, much to the protest of Mr. Weasley, who seemed reluctant to fire on his daughter. He saw her running, then, towards him, while Mr. Weasley shouted at her to come back. He opened his arms to receive her, but suddenly felt his heart stop as a bright red light seemed to encompass her, making her fall limply into his arms.

Harry stared in shock at the limp form of his wife in his arms before slowly looking up and seeing Dumbledore's arm stretched out, a determined look in his eyes.

Instantly, Harry felt fury beyond fury towards the man. Nothing had ever earned his hatred as easily as the old man had.

"_MEN!_" he roared, "_FIRE!_"

Instantly, a roll of thunder was heard as every carbine, musket, and rifle went off, hitting several of the adults, while the Royalist group merely lay down, safely avoiding being hit.

"Royalists!" he then shouted, making every laid down student jump to his/her feet, "Gather to me!"

With a cry of encouragement from Neville, the students bolted towards the soldiers, their belongings floating ahead of them. They passed by the stunned adults, many of whom were unharmed, but shocked nonetheless. Many others, however, were on the ground, clutching at their wounds.

Once safe behind the soldiers, Harry picked up his wife in his arms and turned his back on the adults. He carried her over to the only Healer they'd brought with them and lay her down on the soft grass. He looked at the female Healer with a torn expression. "Please take care of her," he whispered. The woman nodded and Harry turned back to his position.

Drawing his saber, Harry pointed it at the group. "Every man stay here. I will deal with this myself," he stated in a monotone voice. No man dared disagree. They all knew their commander was beyond reason.

Stalking forward dangerously, Harry focused his entire attention on the elderly headmaster, who was slowly regaining his composure.

Too little, too late, though.

Harry gave a furious roar as he kicked the elder man in the middle, sending the man flying back. Two men that stood at the headmaster's side quickly reacted, lunging at Harry. Harry didn't even look at them as he elbowed one in the face and slashed at the other with his saber. Blood spurted from the first one's face as his nose exploded, and the second man went to his knees screaming as his arm dangled by a thread from his shoulder.

Not taking any notice of either man's wounds, Harry made his way towards the downed Headmaster, who was slowly getting to his knees. Harry stood above him with his saber pressed against the man's cheek.

"Get up," he hissed, pressing the saber a bit more forcefully, "I'm not done with you yet. You'll pay for attacking my wife."

Dumbledore slowly complied as he slowly got to his feet, standing a couple of inches taller than his attacker. Harry stayed silent for a moment before narrowing his eyes and throwing a punch into the headmaster's face, jolting the elder man to the side.

Dumbledore coughed as he lay sprawled on the grass, Harry towering over him. "Things could have been done peacefully. No one needed to get hurt," Harry stated as he walked over to the headmaster and kicked him in the side, making the older man yelp in pain. "But no, you had to interfere!" yelled Harry, "You had to attack the only thing more precious to me than my life! You had to attack _my wife!_" he roared, before sending the man an even stronger kick into the side.

Harry felt some sort of perverse pleasure at seeing his tormentor groaning in pain beneath him. It was time to finish the fight, though, so he rose his saber in order to release the last strike, but was stopped when someone called out his name.

"Harry! Stop!" cried out a powerful male voice. Harry whirled around in surprise as he recognized it.

There, within ten meters of where he was, stood James Potter, the patriarch of the Potter family, with his wife, Lily at his side. Harry's father was looking at his son with a mixed gaze of pride and reprimand.

"That's enough, Harry" reprimanded James. "I daresay the old man has learned his lesson."

Harry seemed to take objection to that, though his anger was quickly fading in the face of his father's presence. "But father, he attacked Gi—"

"I know, Harry, what he did to Ginny," interrupted James. Beside him, Lily nodded.

"It was a stunner spell, dear. Ginny's fine," she told her son with an appeasing tone. Harry's expression brightened significantly.

"Ginny's fine?"

Lily gave a soft laugh. "Oh, she'll be confused for a bit after she wakes up, but yes, she's fine," she told him, before giving her son a mischievous smile, "Nothing a kiss won't solve." She laughed when Harry blushed. He nonetheless did lower his saber back to his side.

James nodded approvingly at his son's actions and turned towards the group of adults. "Alright, men. Job's done. Let's all move back to Hogsmeade."

Harry's attention now turned towards the group of adults, finally realizing that none except the first two had interfered in his beating. He now saw that they were all under wand point from a larger group of black-robed men, all of whom held a golden phoenix badge sewn onto their right sleeve. They were his father's elite squad of wizards: the Marauders, named after the pranking group he'd founded in his days at Hogwarts.

Harry made his way back towards his own men, where Ginny was waking up after a swift Ennervate spell was cast by the Healer. Upon seeing Harry walking up to her, she jumped to her feet and ran at him, before jumping into his open arms with a cry of delight. James and Lily stood by, smiling at the reunited pair.

Harry ducked his head down to give his wife a kiss before rearing his head back up towards his men, all of whom seemed to be grinning at him. Harry had the decency to blush before ordering, "All right, men; show's over. Everyone, back to Hogsmeade!"

At once, the men all got to attention before turning and escorting the Royalist students out of the Hogwarts courtyard, the Marauders close behind. Lily, James, Harry, and Ginny, however, stayed behind for a minute, reveling in their reunion. When they moved to leave, however, a redheaded woman from the Order's group suddenly shouted,

"Ginevra Molly Weasley! Stay right where you are!" shouted Molly Weasley frantically.

Ginny turned on her heel to meet her mother's gaze, along with Harry. James and Lily merely turned calmly to see what the commotion was about.

"You are going nowhere, young lady!" screeched Mrs. Weasley. Behind her, the rest of the Weasleys, including a worn out Ron, who had bolted from the castle entrance over to the group after the initial firing, all nodded. Mr. Weasley, however, did seem a bit torn.

"Yes I am, mother," replied Ginny calmly. "I am leaving with my kind."

"Your kind is us!" yelled Charlie. Pointing at Harry, he then yelled, "Not with that brat!"

"That brat, brother, is my husband," Ginny told him icily, her hands on her hips.

"No he isn't! Neville's your boyfriend!" retorted Ron loudly, making Ginny and the Potters laugh.

"Boyfriend?" chortled Ginny, "Hardly. Assigned protector, more like, on orders of Harry," she corrected, pointing at Harry with her thumb.

Most of the Weasleys seemed troubled by the entire marriage announcement, but Mr. Weasley seemed to take it best, as he then asked, "How long?"

"How long what, dad?" asked Ginny politely; after all, her father was being more courteous than the rest of her family.

Mr. Weasley swallowed loudly. "How long have you been married?"

"Approximately one year" she replied bluntly. Mrs. Weasley's eyes widened so much that Harry was afraid her eyes would pop out. Mr. Weasley, however, remained calm.

"Does he make you happy, Ginny?" he asked softly.

Rather than replying, Ginny strode over to her father and gave him a tight hug. "He does, daddy," she answered just as softly, though the Potters and the Weasleys could hear her. Harry's face glowed with pleasure at the remark, while the Potters seemed proud of their son. The Weasleys, however, looked like they'd swallowed something nasty.

Mr. Weasley nodded sadly. "Very well then, Gin-gin. I guess this is goodbye?" he half-stated, half-asked the Potters.

Harry looked at his parents for a moment. Seeing them nod and smile at him, he turned to his father-in-law. "Not necessarily, Mr. Weasley," he replied, holding out a hand to Ginny, who took it as she went back to his side. "You'll be welcome at our house to visit or at the social events we'll be hosting," he told them.

Harry's eyes then narrowed. "Of course, I'm trusting you to be honorable with this invitation, Mr. Weasley, as well as the rest of your family," he warned. "I will not be having half-baked plots to kidnap my wife, understand?"

Mr. Weasley gulped before nodding. Some of the Weasley siblings' face clouded over at that. Mrs. Weasley was crying openly. Harry smiled at Mr. Weasley's acknowledgement.

"Good, then perhaps we'll be seeing you soon, then," he said, before turning his attention to Ginny, "Shall we, Mrs. Potter?"

Ginny giggled before beaming at her husband. "We shall, Mr. Potter"

With that, the two generations of Potter couples left Hogwarts hand-in-hand.


	12. Epilogue: The Fall of Fort Valour

_AN: I'm just putting this up to finally be able to put this story to rest. However, in the event that you wish to re-read its rewritten version (and that version's sequel), you're welcome to go to my profile, where it is listed as "The Dark Wars: Empire's Plight"._

_ Cheers, _

_Marquis Black  
_

* * *

_Fort Valor, England—Three Months Later…_

"FIRE!"

A sound akin to the roll of thunder erupted from the line of muskets as they shot down at the oncoming masses of trolls. Some fell, but the vast majority was still alive and kicking.

Literally.

Atop the walls, Sergeant Pips cursed loudly as he felt the stone ramparts underneath him shake with each blow the trolls threw at the stone walls. He took aim with his musket and fired at another oncoming troll, hitting the huge creature in the head, killing it effectively.

"Fire at will, boys! Let the buggers have it!" he heard his superior officer say from somewhere down the line. He turned to his own platoon and yelled,

"You heard the officer! Let 'em have it!"

The booming noise that had previously been the mark of the British garrison no longer sounded. Instead, individual bangs reverberated as individual soldiers took careful aim and took his time to fire.

It was inevitable, Pips thought as he shot at another troll. The barrage tactic wasn't killing the trolls so much as lightly wounding them.

Then again, the trolls' very presence was unexpected.

In fact, they were caught completely unawares.

Pips heard the cannons atop the four fort towers booming. Atop each was a Union Jack, fluttering in the wind proudly and defiantly. They were horribly outnumbered, and yet they still persisted in fighting the oncoming onslaught.

'_But we never even saw them coming,'_ thought Pips. '_Not even a hint, or a rumor. They just showed up like the bloody boogeyman!'_

The small garrison of Fort Valor had indeed been caught by surprise. The fort itself, although built to resist a sizeable force, was badly undermanned, since no one had thought that the enemy terrorists would: A) have the forces to successfully launch a siege on it; or B) have the guts to do so, so close to the Imperial capital it was.

Unfortunately, the enemy had proven them wrong on both counts.

'_The bastards are learning'_ he thought wryly as he shot at another troll.

Far off, he could see the second wave readying to march. These weren't Death Eaters, either. Pips squinted. They seemed to be dressed ordinarily, too.

'_What the…?'_ he thought, before turning to where he thought his superior officer was. "Sir, second wave readying to advance!" he shouted.

"Death Eaters?" came the follow up question from down the line.

Pips shook his head, though he knew the man couldn't see him. "Naw, Sir! Dressed like civilians!"

"What? What are these fellows playing at?" he heard the officer state. Minutes passed as he waited for some sort of explanation, all the while keeping his firing rate steady, before the officer suddenly gave a horrified whisper that every man in the rampart heard. The words were chilling. Pips took one look at the sky, saw nothing, and turned back to the officer, who gave him a scared stare before asking, "What sort of moon are we expecting tonight?"

Pips thought for a moment, took one look at the falling sun, then back at the civilian-dressed enemy, and confirmed the officer's guess.

Full moon.

Werewolves.

* * *

_Fort Valor HQ_

"Sir, the men on the eastern rampart report the enemy wave is not faltering. The men have lost six men already due to sniper fire from concealed Death Eaters,"

The garrison commander, a recently brevetted Major, cursed at that. "What's the status on Winston Tower? Why are they not firing at the eastern wave?" he asked his adjutant. The man seemed every bit as shaken as the Major felt. Both men steadied themselves as they felt the very ground beneath them shake from the stomping of the giants and trolls outside.

"The southern wave has their complete attention, sir. The gate guard reports that the gate will hold for another two hours, but no more."

The Major cursed again. Where had these troop reserves come from? Why had no one told him? This was supposed to be _light_ duty, off the front lines! Not _at_ the bloody front lines!

The Major turned his attention back to his assistant. "What of the north gate?"

The assistant paused for a moment while he relayed the request over the communication spell. He was one of the two men in the garrison who was a Wizard. He blinked and then reported, "The north gate is still holding. Ensign Rogers reports that the gate is expected to hold for another four hours, if enemy advances remain the same."

'_Which they probably won't.'_ thought the Major. "The west wall?"

Again, the assistant blanked out. When he regained focus, however, he had a terrified look on his face. He began sputtering and babbling, which made the Major even more nervous.

"What is it, man? Come on, speak!"

"W-Western wall indicates a new wave readying to advance. They have siege ladders."

The Major swore at that. It was one thing to try to repel an enemy that couldn't scale the walls. It was another to fight one that _could_. He simply didn't have the manpower to repel such incursions.

"It gets worse, sir," added the assistant as he looked up at the night sky.

"What do you mean, worse?" asked the Major before following his gaze upwards. When he saw the object his assistant was also looking at, his eyes widened in fear.

Full moon.

"Werewolves" whispered the assistant.

'_We're all going to die'_ thought the Major.

* * *

Less than half an hour later, Pips was fighting alongside five of his fellow regiment comrades as the transformed werewolves scaled and ripped through the ranks like scissors on paper. As he stabbed out at the werewolf attacking him with the silver bayonet issues to them for this sort of occasion, Pips was still _very_ aware of the screams of the terrified and agonizing in the background. From what he could understand from the sudden spell chatter, the werewolves had already killed off their Major, as well as the man's assistant, so all communication amongst the garrison troops were chaotic and restricted to shouts. 

Pips slashed at another werewolf as the attacking canines gradually forced Pips into a corner, along with his mates, one of whom soon went down screaming as one of the werewolves managed to shred off the soldier's arm.

Determined not to faint or throw up, Pips tried his best to ignore the awful sound of the werewolves feasting on his friend's live body as the soldier's screams of pain and terror filled Pips' immediate hearing.

Grinding his teeth as he felt his back hit the wall, Pips stabbed out at the encircling werewolves defiantly.

"Come on, you flea-bitten bastards!" he challenged as he tried to swallow his own fear, "Come and get me! If I go down, I'll take some of you bastards with me!"

That seemed to instigate the werewolves, as the canines all suddenly decided to jump Pips in near-unison. The British sergeant gave a cry of defiance and swung his bayonet around, slashing at least three werewolves, before he was ultimately brought down to the floor.

Pips screamed throughout the werewolves' feasting.

* * *

_AN: Well, with this ends The Dark Wars: Empire's Plight. I hope you all enjoyed it. Stay tuned for the future release of its sequel, The Dark Wars: Empire's End.  
_


End file.
